Sugar Me Sweet
by skag trendy
Summary: An AU set after In My Time Of Dying. Sam's keeping a secret from Dean, one that proves dangerous to his health.
1. Chapter 1

**Sugar Me Sweet**

_**An AU **__**s**__**et after In My Time **__**Of**__** Dying.**_

_**And no.**__** They don't belong to me.**_

_**I fucking wish…**_

Dean heard his little brother's footsteps padding across the dusty yard and sighed.

This is _just_ not happening.

I can't take anymore of this.

Raising his head he met Sam's gaze. This time, though, there was something in that gaze that disturbed him, but Dean really didn't have the time or the will power to deal with it. It was just Sam being _Sam._

"Dean? We need to talk about something?..."

"Another time Sammy ok?" Dean dropped his head and slid back under the Impala.

In truth Dean just didn't have the strength to deal with Sam's issues right now. He was struggling with his father's death as it was. Not that Dean would admit it.

"I'm sorry Dean but this can't wait, there's something…."

"Well it's gonna have to Sam." His tone was sharper than he'd intended.

But that was it.

Sam was blocked out.

And both of them felt it.

Dean saw Sam's feet shift a little, then a softly muttered "ok", before the feet trudged off.

And the guilt set in.

John had been Sam's dad too.

And then it hit him.

Sam may have come out of the accident physically unscathed, but his little brother had witnessed too much.

Sam was the one that had to watch as Dean nearly died…

He found their father on the floor…

Shit.

It's no wonder the kid's a wreck.

Dean had been thinking about this for a while. And he still had no way of helping him.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to help anyone anymore.

_Sam's just __gonna__ have __to help himself this time.__ But he's strong. He'll pull through._

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Sam had been feeling unwell since the accident that had…well…claimed his dad's life. So he'd asked Bobby to take him into town under the guise of research at the library. By the look on Bobby's face he knew he was bullshiting. Instead of calling him on it, Bobby had just nodded and driven away. But Sam was sure of the grilling he'd get later.

After all, this was his sixth visit.

And he _had_ lied about where he was really going.

And now, after all the tests, including a particularly sickly glucose tolerance test, _now _he was staring his diagnosis in the face.

_Since when do you give a damn what dad wanted…_

And now Sam was terrified.

He didn't want to face this alone and, as the doctor had told him, his family needed to know just in case.

But Dean was his only family.

_Since when do you give a damn what dad wanted…_

So he'd tried. But Dean didn't want anything to do with him right now.

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"Sam? Have you told your brother yet?" At his shaking head, Harriet Carpenter, MD, glanced at him ruefully. "We've talked about this. He needs to know."

Dr Carpenter had become a close friend since Sam had shown up in her clinic a few weeks ago, complaining of thirst, nausea, excess urinating, etc. and she'd performed a blood glucose test, which completed all the signs of a type 1 diabetic. In fact Sam had been damn lucky she hadn't admitted him right there and then, so high was his blood sugar.

Obviously it had come as a surprise, since Sam was in his early twenties, but it wasn't unheard of for a type 1 to develop after the teenage years waved 'good-bye'.

Doc Carpenter's best guess was that Sam had contracted a virus during his brief hospital stay after the accident, when his immune system had been at an all time low. And it had somehow attacked his pancreas. There was never a complete answer with these things and it often involved just plain bad luck.

"Yeah I know Harry but….he's just not in a good place right now. He doesn't need this crap on top of everything else." Was Sam's soft answer.

Harry leaned in against Sam's shoulder, companionably. "And you think him finding you lying on the floor in a DKA is a better way? Come on Sam…."

"Look I've already tried, but he just doesn't want anything to do with me." Sam dropped his gaze to the floor. "I remind him too much of what he's lost. And…he already thinks I'm a freak…"

Harry looked at him. "I'm pretty certain that aint true."

Sam raised weary eyes to his doctor. "It is. I think…" he huffed a little, finding the words painful. "I think he hates me…"

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Dean had rushed to get to this job, too eager to get out into the field again, so Sam didn't have a chance to _deal_ with his _freaky problem_ as he'd come to think of it. After all, if his doctor was right then this had come about as a direct result of the accident.

And that was killing him.

He didn't want anyone to burst in on him 'shooting up'. So he didn't bother, thinking that they'd get back in time for his next dose of insulin.

Sam had endured his brother's short temper and even shorter rebuffs for weeks now; he knew Dean wouldn't talk, but Sam wasn't sure how much more he could take. He felt utterly miserable.

"Sam, what's goin on?" Bobby fixed the youngest Winchester with his best steely gaze.

"Nothin'" Sam replied as he checked his weapons for the next hunt.

Bobby couldn't help but stare. "You bullshiting me again?"

The look on Sam's face was blank. "Dunno what you mean."

Bobby nodded, anything but convinced. "Ok." _You just keep on telling yourself that…_

He continued to stare at Sam even as he quietly sat himself in the Impala. Bobby noted that Dean was also starting to get worried about his brother's behaviour by now, and about time too.

Sam was too quiet and sullen.

Bobby grabbed Dean's arm before he made a move towards the Impala.

"Dean. You gotta talk to Sam."

"Huh? " Dean looked at him, confusion colouring his gaze.

"Those times he went into town? To go to the library? The last time I dropped him off I stuck around for a while."

Dean waited almost impatiently. "So?" Dean was full of one word answers these days.

"He went to the health clinic. Something's wrong with that boy."

Dean paused. "I think ya reading something' into nothin'. Probably just part of geek-boy's research. He's fine."

But that little voice in his head told him differently… _no he's not_

So Dean did what he knew best. He avoided the subject save for one question.

"You ok dude?" He asked as he slid into the driver's seat.

Sam just nodded, content with keeping quiet. Dean shot him a concerned glance, but said nothing.

Frankly, Dean was happy with the silence and just left it at that though he kept a certain corner of his eye especially for his little brother.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

"Sam!"

Sam whirled in a second and the loud boom of the shot gun reverberated round the clearing.

The spirit dissipated then reappeared a second before Dean flicked open the lighter. Sam saw the damn thing aiming for his brother, and knew he wouldn't be able to reload the shot gun fast enough. So he launched himself at Dean, tackling him to the ground, snatched up the fallen lighter and dropped it into the grave.

The ghost let out a painful screech…and that was the end.

Dean rolled out from under Sam.

"Jeeze that was close huh?"

" Sam?"

Dean twisted his upper body. "Sam?"

His brother was lying on his side, unconscious.

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Sam knew about five minutes before arriving at the forest that he'd made a mistake. He started to feel woozy and shaky, but tried his best to hide it, and apart from the odd concerned glance, he knew Dean hadn't noticed.

But the effort of pushing his brother to safety cleaned him out. As the energy swiftly left his body, he sunk into blessed oblivion.

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"Sam!" Dean was shaking his brother. "Sammy come on wake up. You did it ok? You got rid of him, ya did a good job. Sam!" He'd probably just hit his head on a tree stump or something.

Unbeknownst to Dean, Sam's blood sugar was rising to dangerous levels, ketones zinging round his body. Sam was already in the throes of a metabolic acidosis as his body struggled but failed to keep his glucose levels down.

"Sam come on, talk to me. What's wrong dude?" But Dean, having felt Sam's racing pulse, already had his cell phone out, calling the clinic in town.

"Yeah, my brother and I were out for a walk, but he collapsed and I can't wake him up." Dean shook his head at the next question. "No. He doesn't have any medical conditions. His name? Sam. Sam Winchester."

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Dr Carpenter was just leaving for the day when the phone rang. She sighed and reached over, snatching up the headset. Adjusting the earphones to her head (Judy you big headed freak, she thought of the office secretary with affection), she asked the caller what she could do for him.

A few questions later had Dr Carpenter yelling out "I'll be there in a few minutes" and running for the door.

The answer to her last question was still ringing in her ears.

_No. He doesn't have any medical conditions. __His name?__ Sam. Sam Winchester._

Oh shit.

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Like this? Want me to keep writing?

Just let me know…

My apologies to anyone out there that knows more about diabetes mellitus than I do. This was just something I had roaming through my brain.

Kind regards,

ST.xxx.


	2. Chapter 2

**Sugar Me Sweet Chapter 2**

Dean snapped his phone shut and slipped it back in his pocket. "What's goin' on with you kiddo?" he whispered. And then "Woah easy there!" as a strangled gasp came from the back of Sam's throat and he vomited. Dean immediately flipped him on to his side to prevent him choking, one hand cupped under Sam's neck whilst the other rubbed his stomach in circling patterns, murmuring to him softly. The bout seemed to go on forever and Dean winced a little.

When Sam appeared to be through, Dean rolled him on to his back and started checking for head injuries. He soon drew a blank and leaned back to stare at his brother.

Sam was breathing too fast and deep for Dean's peace of mind, as though his body was starving for air. "Sammy come on wake up, you're scaring me here!"

But Sam appeared to be deeply unconscious, maybe not even aware of his brother's presence.

Trying not to let his fear take over, Dean gently hauled Sam into his arms and tilted his head back to keep his airway open. "Sam please, wake up and tell me what's wrong." Desperation had crept into Dean's voice by now, and he was shaking Sam lightly, begging his little brother to talk to him.

But it soon became obvious that wasn't going to happen and Dean had the nasty suspicion that Sam was in serious trouble.

He glanced at his watch praying that Dr Carpenter got here soon. Dean liked and trusted the MD, after she re-set his shoulder following a dislocation. She'd been surprisingly gentle and he had barely felt a thing.

Just as he was about to give in and drag Sam to the car, a small ambulance, more like an estate car than a van, screeched to a halt by the clearing.

Hearing a door slam, Dean called out "We're over here!" And Harry Carpenter appeared at a run, a large EMT lumbering along beside her holding on to a collapsible stretcher. She carried a large green medical case, and was frowning in fierce concentration, already barking out questions.

"How long's he been out?"

"He collapsed right before I called you."

"Symptoms?"

Dean thought back over the last couple of hours. Sam had seemed quiet and irritable on the run up to the salt and burn, but Dean had just put that down to what seemed to be Sam's permanent excessive tiredness. At least Sam had stopped complaining he was thirsty, but his frequent trips to the bathroom had amused Dean a little, even cracking a joke about it at Sam's expense.

_Jeeze__ Sam. You got the bladder of a four year old_

To which Sam had just scowled at him and said nothing. Looking at his little brother lying unconscious on the ground, Dean couldn't really blame him. The joke, such as it was, hadn't been that funny.

With this information in mind, Harry already guessed what the problem was as she pulled out a small blood glucose meter. Her patient was pale and perspiring, not to mention severely hyperventilating. Pricking Sam's finger and letting the blood well up, she touched a test strip to the red liquid then slid it into the meter. A small bleeping noise indicated it had finished its task and when she checked the readout her eyes widened.

Dean glanced up at hearing her swift intake of breath "What is it? Is he going to be ok?"

Harry ignored him for the moment as she checked Sam's pulse.

"His breathing's all wrong and his pulse is too fast." Dean watched as deep concern marred her attractive features when she spoke to the EMT.

Sensing Dean's anxiety the doctor explained. "It's called Kussmaul respiration and sometimes happens during a DKA if it goes untreated for too long." Harry muttered, hoping that Dean would stay calm.

"It's called who and sometimes happens during a what?" Dean's face was twisted with worry and confusion.

"Kussmaul's respirations are the body's attempt to remove carbon dioxide from the blood, and that combined with Sam's unconscious state and stonking hyperglycaemia tells me he's in the late stages of a ketoacidosis."

Dean's own eyes widened. "He's what!?"

"You're brother's in a coma, Dean, because his blood sugar levels are too high." The doctor responded as she slipped an oxygen mask over Sam's face then attached a pulse oximeter to his finger.

"Tom, he's badly dehydrated. We need to get some fluids into him."

"I'm on it. How's his BM lookin'?" Tom, the giant of an EMT indicated the glucose meter as he quickly and efficiently set up an IV in Sam's arm.

"38" Harry removed a phial of insulin from the medi kit along with a syringe.

"Jesus! No wonder the kid's out of it!"

Dean was reeling with shock. "Coma? What?! But….how?! I don't understand…"

Harry spoke as she injected the insulin in to the IV port.

"My best guess it that Sam skipped a couple doses of insulin." Harry realised Dean had gone quiet and glanced over at him.

"What?" Dean asked again, but this time his voice was cold and deadly.

Ah. So Dean didn't know. Sam still hadn't found the courage to tell him and now he was seriously ill. She sighed.

_Sam, this is just what I was trying to warn you about…_

"I'll explain later." Harry gave him a sympathetic smile. "Right now I want to get Sam to the clinic and run some arterial blood gases on him, and check his urine for glucose and ketones. I just gave him a shot of insulin to bring down his glucose levels but we need to monitor him. Sam may need another dose in an hour or so, but he could easily go hypo, and that's just as dangerous. Tom,we ready?"

"Yep." Between them they lifted their patient on to the stretcher and carried him over to the small clinic ambulance.

Dean followed on, anger bubbling away under the surface of the hard, cold front he now presented to the world.

"Dean? There's not enough room in one of these things for more than two people in the back. And that includes the patient…" She was interrupted as Sam started choking and gasping.

"Shit! He's in respiratory distress. We're gonna have to intubate."

Dean watched helplessly, anger, shock and fear a swirl of emotions inside of him, as Harry and Tom fought to keep Sam breathing.

_Come on Sammy…_

The terrible choking stopped once Harry managed to force a tube down into Sam's throat. It didn't look pleasant but at least he could breathe now, Dean thought to himself, taking a deep breath of his own.

"Ok. Let's get him to the clinic." Harry stayed in the back with Sam as Tom raced over to the driver's side and slid behind the wheel. "We'll meet you there Dean. Ok?"

Harry watched Dean with a certain amount of concern until he nodded and headed towards the Impala. She knew he'd lost his dad recently and he and Sam had both been struggling to cope, but now Sam was in trouble and she wondered if it wasn't all becoming too much for the older brother.

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Dean sat in the waiting room staring at the wall. He wasn't sure how long he sat there but he was pretty sure it'd been a while because his ass had gone numb. Holding on to his temper was quite the battle and he was getting tired.

_Sam's diabetic._

_What the hell?_

Dr Carpenter had briefly explained as they were transferring Sam from the ambulance to the clinic. She'd diagnosed Sam only recently and his little brother was struggling to come to terms with it.

_"I think that's why he hadn't told you yet. He was worried about you, told me you'd been through a lot since your father's death and didn't want to burden you."_

Replaying that conversation in his head made Dean even madder and he wanted to punch something. Sam had stupidly risked his life to protect Dean, and _that's not supposed to be the way it works Sam!_

Getting abruptly to his feet he started pacing when Harry poked her head round the door.

"Dean? I've just got him settled. You can see him now." With a small smile she beckoned him to the room.

And the instant he saw his brother all anger melted away. Dean sat in the chair at Sam's bedside and visibly deflated. Reaching out, he grasped Sam's hand and rubbed his thumb over the calloused knuckles. His little brother looked so young and dejected lying there with that hateful device in his mouth.

"Is he ok? Can he hear me?"

Harry fiddled with Sam's IV. "The treatment's going well but he's not out of the woods yet I'm afraid….in fact, I think he's given up."

Dean stared at her.

Harry hated herself for saying it but Dean needed to know. "He told me…" she paused, trying to gather her thoughts. "You wouldn't talk to him about your dad and grew angry when he tried. He thinks you hate him."

Dean looked like he was going to throw up. "What do you mean?" Equal doses of pain, grief and anger were roaring through his mind.

_He thinks I hate him? __Godamnit__ Sam how could you be so stupid!_

"I'm not saying he missed his insulin shots intentionally, but there's a possibility that may be he couldn't cope with this on his own and he just forgot." Harry watched Dean closely, regretting the guilt that swamped his face. "I'm so sorry Dean. I'm not saying this to hurt you or lay all the blame on your shoulders. But it's important you understand how this may have affected Sam if we're to help him. And yes, I think he can hear you so keep talking to him."

Harry moved to the door. "I'll be in my office if you need me."

Dean nodded.

And found himself alone with Sam.

"Aw Sammy. Why didn't you tell me you were sick huh?" Dean whispered softly. "God you make me so damn mad."

He watched the rise and fall of Sam's chest as the respirator did its job.

Then it hit him.

"Oh god. You did try to tell me, didn't you? And I just pushed you away…"

_Dean? We n__eed to talk about something_

_Another time Sammy ok?_

_I'm sorry Dean but this can't wait, there's something…._

_Well it's __gonna__ have to Sam._

Dean covered his eyes with his hand for a second, then slowly dragged it down his face.

"I wasn't there when you needed me…you were struggling, I could see that. And instead of

helping you I shut you out and left you to deal with this on your own. Oh god Sammy I'm

so sorry." Tears finally rolled slowly down Dean's face as his heart broke for his little

brother.

It hurt to think about it but Dean figured he deserved that much.

Sam must have felt so lost after the accident. Dean had sensed his loneliness but turned his

back on him, trying to deny his own grief.

Dean had once told Sam he was a selfish bastard, and that couldn't have been further from

the truth, because now Sam was desperately ill and all because of some misguided sense of

saving Dean anymore pain, _because he thought Dean hated him_

"I never hated you little bro." Dean sniffed and leaned in closer to Sam. "I love you Sammy.

There are times I wanna strangle you, and more often than not I really feel like kicking your

stubborn ass. But I could never hate you. And you're going to have to believe that because

I'm asking you to fight. Fight hard. Fight for me Sam because if you go I go. It's that

simple."

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_**Authors notes:**_

More to come soon.

I've pretty much skimmed over the tackling of DKA, mainly because I was trying to avoid

bogging the reader down with too much medical jargon. The "38" in reference to Sam's

blood glucose levels is in English units because those are the ones I use at work, rather than

the American units so I apologise if anyone was confused by that. Rest assured its damn

high! (Though I have seen higher).

This obviously isn't an accurate or by any means even complete account of the development and treatment of DKA, but I just didn't want to harp on too much and lose the drama of the moment.

Oh and my apologies if the ending was a bit mushy. I was giving in the desire to see Dean go

all soppy on Sam.

Ya gotta admit it was pretty cute eh?

Many thanks for all your reviews, and I promise I will get round to answering them all

eventually. I think that if someone has taken the time and effort of leaving some kind words

about one of my stories then it's only polite to at least reply.

Kind regards,

ST.xxx.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sugar Me Sweet Chapter 3**

Dean watched over his sleeping brother, barely leaving his side except to use the bathroom.

No, he's not sleeping, Dean had to remind himself. _He's in a __frigging __diabetic coma_

He'd called Bobby a little while ago and he was on his way. Bobby had been devastated when Dean told him about Sam.

_"Aw hell Dean!__ I knew __somethin__' was up with that boy, but diabetes? Jesus!"_

_"Yeah, I'm right there with __ya__ Bobby…"_

Dean noticed anxiously that Sam seemed to be growing paler as time wore on and he showed no sign of coming round. Studying his face closely he couldn't help but stare at the dark shadows under Sam's eyes; they'd been darkening slowly ever since the crash, in stark contrast to the bruises that had been steadily fading over the last few weeks.

Dean whispered soft words of encouragement, he joked, pleaded, even downright begged for Sam to wake up and talk to him.

"That day in Bobby's yard, I thought you were just sulking, brooding, pissed at me even." Dean had his palm under Sam's neck, feeling the slight movement as his upper body rocked slightly each time oxygen was forced into his lungs. "But all that time…you were just trying to figure out what you'd done wrong. But ya _didn't_ do anything wrong little bro.

Sammy, please. You have to fight this."

Harry had been watching the two of them discreetly from the doorway. She hated to intrude but it was time to check Sam over again.

She cleared her throat and Dean glanced over at her, giving her a weak smile as she approached the bed.

"You ok?" She asked Dean without looking up from her ministrations.

Dean drew in a shaky breath. "Yeah. How's he doin'?"

"No change I'm afraid. Let me bring in a more comfortable chair for you, or maybe even a bed. You look like you could use some rest." She didn't even _suggest_ that Dean leave the room, knowing full well it would be a waste of time.

"Uh…yeah. Thanks," though Dean seriously doubted he'd be able to sleep. Watching Harry check on his brother, he frowned a little. "Can you teach me how to use that?"

Harry looked up in surprise, then after a pause she nodded. "Sure. Come over here."

When he moved to stand beside her Harry showed him the medical device he'd seen her use earlier. "This is a portable glucose meter; it's a small version of what the larger analysers can do up in the labs. It helps diabetics keep track of their glucose levels and we can adjust their insulin doses accordingly. Sam has one of his own just like this."

Dean stared at the meter; it was no bigger than a pager.

"I never saw him with one of these." He took hold of the meter when she offered it to him.

Harry smiled a little. "I think that Sam's pretty good at hiding things when he feels the need to."

Dean appreciated the doctor's attempt at making him feel better, but the fact remained that Sam _had _felt the need to hide it from him.

Well, things were about to change.

When Sam woke up- and as far as Dean was concerned there was no _if_ about it - he was in for the shock of his life.

"I need to understand all this." He turned his pleading green gaze on Harry who immediately understood.

"Ok. I'll teach you as much as I can." Grinning a little she added. "Are you ready for a crash course in medicine?"

And so the re-education of Dean Winchester had begun.

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Harry spent some time explaining the basics of diabetes, and then eventually went into more detail.

Sam had developed diabetes since the accident, and Harry felt it may have been due to a viral infection. Diabetes often comes about due to a genetic link, though Dean was pretty certain they had no family history.

Dean proved to be an attentive student. He knew more about the workings of the internal combustion engine than he did the back of his own hand, but pretty soon came to realise that the human body wasn't so different. Apart from, of course, that when essential parts wore out or broke down in a human, fixing or replacing it was infinitely trickier and sometimes downright impossible.

Harry was impressed but not altogether surprised at how quickly Dean was picking up the medical terminology. And whenever he didn't understand something he wasn't afraid to ask. She provided him with all kinds of reading material, from patient guides to information pamphlets such as for Point Of Care Testing, diabetes monitoring and control.

In between grilling the doctor and struggling through various chapters in some of the largest medical books he'd ever seen, Dean spent quite a lot of time trawling the net on Sam's laptop, frowning in concentration as he read countless online medical journals and visited websites dedicated to diabetes.

He now understood words such as polyuria – over production of urine, and polydipsia – thirst and excessive fluid intake. Hyperglycaemia – high blood glucose levels.

He now knew the difference between diabetes mellitus type 1 and type 2. 'Mellitus' from the Latin word for "honey" – referring to the overspill of glucose in to the urine, or "sweet urine". The history behind the laboratory analysis of that nearly made him puke. In the days before automated analysis and test strips, lab technicians used to taste the patient's urine to check for glucose. He glanced at Sam.

_Forget it dude. No fucking way!_

As Sam had type 1 Dean didn't worry too much about researching type 2 at this stage. He also discovered a third type called _gestational_ diabetes, but unless Sam was hiding some even stranger secrets from him than Dean had first thought (such as a positive pregnancy test), he pretty much discounted that one from his studies too.

Dean now knew what DKA stood for and what a ketone was – Diabetic Ketoacidosis, a result of insulin deficiency, hyperglycaemia, dehydration, and, as the skewed metabolism continued along its merry path, the over production of ketones, which in turn lowered the pH of the bloodstream - it became acidic. The condition, if went untreated, led to coma and eventually death. Dean's heart nearly stopped at that.

_Thank god he wasn't on his own when this happened!_

He learned that the ketones emerged when the body had to resort to using fat as an energy source; the fat was transported to the liver for conversion to ketones for use as fuel, and these could be detected in the blood and the urine. It could also be smelt on the patient's breath as 'pear drops', similar to the scent of nail varnish.

Another glance at Sam: _huh. Always knew you were a girl dude! _

Diabetics who exercise regularly and to excess needed to test for ketones in order to monitor control.

Dean watched his silent brother for another long moment, and his heart clenched. "Chalk up another regular test for ya Sammy."

He had discussed with Harry the different methods of administering the insulin, including the possible use of an electronic pump, which could be attached to Sam 24/7 and deliver insulin in timed intervals through a cannula. But Dean discounted that idea for several reasons. They were on the road for long periods of time and their line of work was highly dangerous, so if the pump were to break down or become damaged in some way, Dean was worried he wouldn't be able to fix it and that could put Sam at risk. Infection through prolonged use in one area was also possible, and so the site of attachment had to be rotated.

But his main reason was he felt that once Sam had learned to keep a better eye on his blood sugar levels, then administering his own insulin might give him back a sense of control over his own body. As Dean had read in various leaflets, poor self-esteem was often an issue with newly diagnosed diabetics, especially in young people. And after what Dean had done to his brother, Sam was going to need all the help he could get.

Dean also learned of the importance of something called HbA1c. It was a type of haemoglobin in the blood cells; the usual type, Hb, helped carry oxygen round the body, but HbA1c could pick up any excess amounts of glucose that might be swimming around in the blood stream. And given the life span of red blood cells, HbA1c could be used to monitor how well a patient was controlling their diabetes over a longer period of time.

It was this little nugget of information that led on to Dean scaring himself silly. Poorly controlled diabetes could bring about a variety of complications, including neuropathy, retinopathy (Sam could go blind? Shit!), heart disease and possible limb amputation due to diabetics having poor circulation (diabetic gangrene? Fuck sake Sam, what were you thinking!)

Harry was able to put him straight on a few things. Yes, Sam was now at an increased risk for all those things, but those were complications that came about in the case of poorly controlled blood sugar levels over a long period of time. So no, Sam wasn't going to wake up with a sudden need for a white stick, guide dog, and wooden leg.

Dean also discovered the need to monitor Sam's renal function and cholesterol levels every few months. Mostly, diabetics could lead a relatively normal life with a healthy diet (not a problem, this was geek-boy after all!) and plenty of exercise (again not a problem, and ditto on the reason). But with all that _could _go wrong? It was still worrying stuff in Dean's mind. He'd never seen a hypoglycaemic attack, the result of too much insulin causing the blood glucose to drop too low, but apparently it was just as scary as witnessing a hyper. It could easily happen when a diabetic patient was struggling to find the optimum dose of insulin.

But now Dean knew what to do to help Sam should any of that happen, and had already started making a list of things he needed to keep in the car.

Glucose drinks, energy bars, and when it was possible fresh fruit and juice; that was just the start of it.

Sam was still trying to find his feet during his first foray into the world as a diabetic and things could easily get out of hand especially in their line of work, as already demonstrated by the night's events.

But Dean was going to be right there alongside Sam to help him figure things out. Eventually Sam would regain his confidence and independence, Dean would make sure of that.

"…and we're going to take regular rest breaks and weekends off, 'cos stress could trigger off another DKA. And you're gonna tell me whenever you're sick or I'll spot it and kick your ass. No more burning the midnight oil researching a hunt, and absolutely no more skipping meals, Sammy. Ya hear me? I mean it!" Throughout his medical research Dean had kept on talking to Sam, letting him know that his older brother was watching his back.

By the time Bobby arrived after an exhausting five hour journey back from picking up some car parts, Dean was quite the expert on diabetes mellitus.

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Bobby tapped softly on the door frame and Dean briefly glanced up at him from a pile of books with a tired grin.

"Hey Bobby." His voice was a little hoarse from hours of talking.

Bobby nodded gruffly then tipped his head in Sam's direction. "How's he doin'?"

"Much better. The respirator came out a little while ago and he's on nasal oxygen now. I was just about to check him over." Dean got up and moved round the bed. Bobby raised a brow as his eye caught the text book title.

'Diabetes mellitus: diagnosis, monitoring and control. A clinical laboratory guide.'

"A little light reading Dean?" Bobby's gaze ran over the piles upon piles of notes all in Dean's handwriting and whistled. "You've obviously been busy."

Dean looked a little self-conscious. "I know probably everything there is to know about the supernatural. But fuck all about anything else." His tone carried a significant amount of sadness as he glanced at Sam. "I needed to change that. For Sam."

Bobby stared at the older brother as he expertly handled the glucose monitor.

_This boy never cease__s__ to amaze me!_

Dean checked the readout and smiled. "Looks like he's doin' better. His arterial blood gases from earlier indicated that he's no longer in acidosis, and his glucose is nearly at a more desirable level…" Dean carried on checking the monitors around Sam, then took his pulse. "He was tachycardic for a while but that seems to have settled down…"

Bobby watched with even more amazement as Dean proceeded to scratch some notes on a chart by the bed. _What the hell does all that mean?_

But judging by the pleased look on Dean's face it was obviously good news.

"I see you've met Sam's self-appointed personal physician." An amused voice from the doorway made both hunters glance round. "He's made a good job of it so far, I've hardly had to check on Sam these last couple hours."

Harry was smiling broadly at Dean. "I think he knows more about DM type 1 than I do now! Should've been a doctor huh?"

Dean ducked his head as Bobby stared at him with pride.

A small whimper from the bed made Dean crouch down by Sam and place a hand gently on his brother's head. "Hey Sam, you in there bro? Are you ready to come back now?"

"We'll just be next door if you need anything." Harry signalled to Bobby that they were both leaving. It looked like Sam was waking up and the boys needed some time alone, so Bobby nodded, laid a brief hand on Dean's arm in support, then left.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Dean stroked Sam's hair as he watched his brother gradually regain consciousness.

Sam frowned deeply and his breathing picked up speed. Eventually his eyes fluttered open and stared around the room, obviously in distress.

"Hey kiddo." Dean whispered. "You scared the hell outta me, you know that?"

"Dean?" Sam croaked, wondering why his throat was so sore.

Dean had ice chips at the ready and started placing one against Sam's lips. "Yeah, it's your awesome older brother." His smile faded a little, as he observed Sam open his mouth to accept the ice gratefully. "Though in truth, I guess I haven't been so awesome lately."

"What happened?" Sam looked at him anxiously, and Dean noted, a little sadly.

Running a hand through his hair, Dean shrugged. "You want the long or the short version?"

Sam just blinked at him tiredly.

"Ok. Well, it started out with me being an asshole." Speaking matter-of-factly, he chewed on his bottom lip for a second. "And then it progressed to you finding out you had diabetes, onto me shutting you out so you felt you had to keep it a secret…" he paused as he look at the now sudden shocked and frightened expression on Sam's face, "and ended with you getting really sick because of it. You went into a diabetic coma and nearly died."

Sam swallowed and looked ashamed. "I'm sorry Dean. I…I just lost track of time, and forgot when I last took my insulin. I didn't mean to burden you with any more crap, you have enough to deal with. I'm sorry you had to find out, especially like this." He became increasingly more agitated. "You shouldn't have had to deal with this too…"

"Hey! Shhh Sam it's ok. I'm the one who should be sorry." Dean reached out and squeezed Sam's shoulder. "This isn't your fault, this is down to me. If I'd just listened to you…you were asking for my help, and me being a selfish bastard ignored you. Don't ever think this is your fault, ok? Promise me?"

Sam shook his head, even more distressed. "Can't Dean. Dad's dead, we've lost the Colt, and now you have a freak brother who has to inject himself with drugs just to stay alive…" He turned his face away.

Dean sighed sadly. He knew most of this was just exhaustion and the after-effects of the acidosis talking. But he wasn't stupid; now he was really seeing how much damage he'd caused.

"Sam look at me. Please." When Sam finally rolled his head back towards his brother, the despair and defeat in his gaze nearly broke Dean's heart all over again.

Dean forced a smile. "Yeah, you are a freak but _that's_ because of what goes on in that freaky head of yours. You're _not_ defined by diabetes dude, it's just another bump in the road. One that we'll deal with together if you let me help, ok? I promise you. You aint in this alone now."

Sam continued gazing at him, but this time there was hope in those intense eyes. "Ok." He nodded slowly, tiredly. "Thanks Dean."

"Not a problem little bro." Dean gave him a cocky grin, which turned serious for a second. "But you ever forget to take your insulin again…"

Sam smiled for the first time since he woke up. "Yeah I know."

Dean held a hand to his ear. "Sorry? What was that? What will I do?"

That earned him the patented Sam Winchester eye roll. "You'll kick my scrawny ass."

"Damn straight bitch."

"Just give me some more ice chips jerk."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

_**Author's notes:**_

Hope I haven't buggered up you with too much medical information but I thought it might be cool to see how Dean decides to deal with all this.

Again, it's not the most accurate account but I hope you've found it interesting and entertaining. And yes, technicians did indeed use to test urine for sugar in that way, and no! That was _way_ before my time. Thank god for modern technology!

Well, please R&R for me. Possible chapter 4 may be?

Thanks so much for all the great reviews.

Kind regards,

ST.xxx.


	4. Chapter 4

**Sugar Me Sweet Chapter 4**

_**Ok. Well, it started out with me being an asshole.**_

_**And then it progressed to you finding out you had diabetes, onto me shutting you out so you felt you had to keep it a secret…**_

_**I'm sorry Dean. I…I just lost track of time, and forgot when I last took my insulin.**_

_**Hey! Shhh Sam it's ok. I'm the one who should be sorry.**_

…_**.you ever forget to take your insulin again…**_

_**&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&**_

Sam's diabetes had grave consequences, some that the boy's hadn't suspected.

As it turned out, on this particular hunt, **lack** of insulin was not the problem. In fact it was almost a fucking joke. They'd received a call that another group of vampires were once again active. And that call turned out to be false.

Dean had woken up and found himself completely helpless, arms tied behind his back, and tied tightly to a chair. It was when he opened his eyes that the real problem assaulted him.

Oh shit.

He was facing his little brother, who was restrained in a similar fashion. But Sam was still unconscious, his head dropped to his chest.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

_**Then…**_

"Dean I'm ok, just go out already!"

"Sam, I'm not leaving you so don't fuck with me. Seriously, I'm not in the mood for an argument!"

Sam just sighed. "I'm fine Dean, honestly. I wasn't hungry last night, now just go to the bar wouldja?"

Dean rounded on him, his fear palpable now, the memory of his little brother nearly passing out in his arms was too vivid.

"You almost fainted Sam! You have to take your diet more seriously now!"

Sam scowled. "What the hell you think I've been doin' so far huh? You're the one with the health issues dude! You're the one who eats nothing but crap!"

Dean paused for a second, taking in the bruise on Sam's face.

_He'd_ put that there, and all because he didn't like what Sam was telling him.

Gordon Walker had turned out to be real trouble and now Dean felt guilty as hell. 

Sam had been abducted by vampires and Dean _hadn't even known! _

Instead he'd carried on drinking with Gordon

His little brother had tried to tell him about the vampires, and about Gordon.

Had tried to talk to him about Dad again.

But Dean had just been Dean and over-reacted. He'd punched Sam in the face, and now he was worried as hell, 'cos Sam hadn't eaten last night.

_Hypocrite much?_

Sam had been quiet since Dean had asked him to punch back, but Sam couldn't.

Because he wasn't like Dean, and never had been. Sam had turned around and walked away, the idea of hurting his big brother just too much for him.

_You can hit me all you want, it won't change anything._

And for that, Dean really felt like shit.

And what could he say?

_I'm sorry Sam I shouldn't have done that…_

_Please forgive me, I'm the one who needs his ass kicked…_

Dean sighed in regret. "Just drink some juice, please? I promise not to bug you anymore if ya just drink some juice."

Sam closed his eyes for a second and shook his head. But on bringing his eyes back up to his older brother's his heart melted a little. Dean was trying his hardest to help him.

_Dean's scared outta his mind!_

He nodded slowly and whispered "Ok".

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Dean now stared at his brother.

Sam was just coming round, and his eyes were glassy as he finally rested them on Dean.

"Wha…?"

"It's ok Sam, just take it easy."

All Dean kept thinking was that he should've known better as the door to their _cell_ suddenly slammed open.

And there stood Gordon with a syringe.

_How the hell did he know?_

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Harry knew she was deep shit when the guy standing in front of her made his demands.

"I can't. Patient confidentiality and all that."

"_Tell me!"_

But even as the blade was driven deep across her throat, she refused to utter a word.

_An absolution that would never come…_one of her most favourite lines from the movie Titanic. Weird. But that pretty much summed it up.

As she lay on the floor of her own clinic, blood coursing through the slit in her neck, she knew there was no way she could keep Sam Winchester safe.

The stranger ransacked her office even as she lay dying on the floor, trying with one last desperate attempt to reach Dean. She got as far as voicemail before the dark stranger ground his foot into the phone.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Gordon waved the syringe in a 'hi there' gesture.

"You would not believe the shit I went through to get a hold of this."

Sam tried to turn his head but Gordon reached out a hand and got him in a fearful headlock.

Clamping his hand over Sam's mouth, forcing his head back, he placed the syringe needle right next to Sam's carotid artery.

Sam groaned in pain under the onslaught but he never took his eyes off Dean.

Dean jerked and struggled in his seat, desperately trying to get to his brother.

"Gordon you bastard!" He yelled as he saw the plunger pressed into Sam's neck, the needle sinking into Sam's flesh.

"What've you done to him?"

Gordon looked at Dean with mock-surprise. "I would've thought that was obvious. Sam needs his insulin right?"

He grinned. "But if you can get free, there's a bottle of orange juice right over there."

Gordon pointed to the carton in the corner.

_The bastard's enjoying this…_

Sam breathed through his nose as he tried to focus, but the excess insulin running through his veins made him feel…

"Sam!" Sam could hear Dean's voice but he couldn't react.

Dean watched as Gordon dropped the syringe and, with a final grin, left the room. 

He fixed his gaze on Sam.

"Sammy?..."

"Dean,…I don't feel so good…"

Already Dean could spot the signs of a massive hypo and he struggled hard to free himself from the ropes, as he watched his little brother listing in his seat.

"Just hold on Sam!"

But Sam felt himself starting to seize. 

"Ch...chest hurts Dean…." Dean watched helplessly as Sam's body gave way to the hypoglycaemia.

Sam's blood glucose levels had plummeted and he could barely focus.

He began jerking violently against his ropes as the seizures took over.

"Sammy!"


	5. Chapter 5

**Sugar Me Sweet Chapter 5**

**Then…**

_**He was facing his little brother, who was restrained in a similar fashion. But Sam was still unconscious, his head dropped to his chest.**_

_**&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&**_

"_**You almost fainted Sam! You have to take your diet more seriously now!"**_

_**&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&**_

_**As she lay on the floor of her own clinic, blood coursing through the slit in her neck, she knew there was no way she could keep Sam Winchester safe.**_

_**&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&**_

_**Clamping his hand over Sam's mouth, forcing his head back, he placed the syringe needle right next to Sam's carotid artery.**_

_**&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&**_

_**Sam's blood glucose levels had plummeted, and he could barely focus.**_

_**He began jerking violently against his ropes as the seizures wracked his body.**_

_**Sammy!**_

_**&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&**_

**Now…**

"Sammy!"

Sam's body was in the full throes of insulin shock.

Dean struggled to free himself, ropes cutting painfully into his wrists. His brother's seizures became so violent his chair tipped over, leaving Sam lying on his side, convulsing harshly on the cold stone floor, still tightly bound to the chair.

Dean had seen his brother go through a hypoglycaemic attack before but nothing remotely on this scale. This was truly frightening.

Sam's constant gasps and strangled gagging noises had Dean tugging at his wrists all the harder. A last he felt the ropes give slightly.

"Just keep your eyes on me Sam! Don't give up!"

Sam stared at him with frightened eyes, but Dean knew he was running out of time. He didn't like the bluish tinge to Sam's lips, nor the way Sam now appeared to be looking straight through him as his eyes began to glaze over.

"Stay awake Sam! I'm nearly free so just stay awake!"

Sam was only seconds away from a diabetic coma, probably even death, and it was that last thought that flipped the final switch in Dean's brain. He poured all his pain, all his anger into every desperate struggle and his perseverance was soon rewarded when a loud crack indicated the chair had given way.

Dean stood and smashed the wood against the wall, freeing his arms. Grabbing Sam and pulling his chair upright, Dean noted with panic that the convulsing had eased a little and that 

wasn't a good thing. It meant that Sam was on the cusp of coma; his eyes were narrowed to slits, the pupils uneven, as he gradually lost awareness.

Dean darted over to the juice carton, snatched it up and wrestled open the lid. Dropping to his knees beside his brother, he gently clasped a hand to Sam's jaw, tilting his head back.

Sam moaned weakly as he tried to turn his head away.

"Come on Sam, I need you to drink this." Dean increased his grip on his brother's jaw as he tipped the carton to Sam's lips. Sam choked and gasped as the juice filled his mouth, running down his chin. "Sam please. If you don't get some sugar into your body you're going to die!" Dean's voice shook with frustration and fear.

Sam continued to struggle weakly, and Dean was beside himself when another attempt to feed Sam the juice failed miserably. Hating himself for doing this to Sam, but knowing there was no other way; he poured more of the liquid into Sam's mouth, then forced his jaw shut. Pinching off his brother's nose he watched in despair as Sam jerked violently, trying to expel the juice. But eventually Sam was forced to swallow and Dean sighed in relief.

"Atta boy Sammy. Just a little more." He allowed Sam to breathe one more time before force feeding his little brother again.

Sam gagged and choked and Dean worried that he was going to vomit it all back up again.

"No Sam, you have to keep it down!"

"_D...Dean…no…not r..right…" _Dean was surprised at Sam's whispered words and realised he'd been trying to tell him something.

"What is it Sam? What's wrong?"

"…_juice…"_

Dean frowned as he looked at the carton, then raised it to his nose. Recoiling at the foul smell, he glanced at the use-by date and felt a new level of anger building.

"Gordon you sick twisted _sonofabitch!_" He launched the carton at the wall, only feeling a small amount of satisfaction at the squelching noise as it exploded under the force.

"_Dean…s'ok…"_

Dean grasped his brother's shoulders and shook him. "No it's not goddamnit! I won't lose you!" Sam's head dipped to his chest as conscious thought faded. "Sam! Stay with me!"

Sam's breathing was weakening and Dean panicked even more. "No! No Sam! Wake up!"

As he shook his little brother again, he heard a rustling noise and froze. 

It was coming from his jacket pocket. Relief flooded him as he searched his pocket and came up with the candy bar. It was soft caramel filled chocolate and it might just save Sam's life.

_Who'd would've thought my sweet tooth could save the day!_

Unwrapping the candy, he let the warmth of his hand melt it a little as spoke to his brother in a soft reassuring voice.

"You're gonna be ok Sam. I've got chocolate and I'm not afraid to use it!" Dean grinned a little at his own joke. "But you need to stay awake, ok?"

Opening Sam's unresisting mouth, Dean gently smeared the melting chocolate onto Sam's gums. During the course of his extensive research into his brother's condition, he'd read somewhere that sugar could enter the blood stream if rubbed across the gums, but usually this trick made use of honey.

He only hoped that the caramel and chocolate would do the job. Once the sugar entered Sam's blood stream he would recover real quickly, so Dean set about untying his brother, lowering him to floor and wincing at the cuts and abrasions on his wrists. He made a mental note to bathe those wounds the minute he got Sam to safety.

Sitting himself down, he cradled Sam in his arms and waited.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

After rubbing more of the candy onto Sam's gums a few more times, Sam started to come round.

He opened his eyes to be met with a pair of anxious green ones.

"Sam? You back with me?"

Sam blinked. "Yeah." He whispered, feeling confused and more than a little scared. Why was Dean looking so worried?

"How ya feeling little bro?"

"Weird. Tired." He frowned as memories flooded him. "Gordon?"

Dean seemed to understand what he was asking and smiled grimly. "Don't worry Sam. I'm gonna track that bastard down and make sure he never hurts you again."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Dean watched Sam closely for the next few days. Even when Sam went off for long walks on his own, claiming the need to think, Dean made sure he was never far away.

Usually with a candy bar at the ready.

He knew he was over reacting, but he couldn't help it. His little brother just seemed so damned sad, and Dean worried how this additional news was affecting his health.

He'd got the phone call not long after bundling Sam into the Impala covering him with his leather jacket. Sam was still pretty out of it after Gordon's attack, and Dean knew it would be some time before his brother got a decent nightmare-free sleep. But what Bobby had to tell him…

"_Dean? You guys ok?"_

"_We are now, but it was close. Too close. Gordon…"_

"_Yeah, I kinda figured it was him."_

Dean had known something was wrong, and felt Sam stir in the seat next to him.

"_Bobby?"_

"_Harry was found on the floor of the clinic this morning…"_

"_She ok?" Sam opened his eyes at Dean's sharp tone._

"_Dean… I don't know how to tell you this. Her throat was cut, the office and consulting room ransacked. Sam's files were missing."_

Dean's jaw had clenched as his grip on the phone threatened to snap it in half. Swallowing hard, he had pulled the car over to the side of the road.

"_Thanks for letting us know. We'll see ya soon Bobby."_

Sam being Sam wanted to know what was going on, why they'd pulled over, what Bobby had said.

Dean had pinched the bridge of his nose, then proceeded to tell Sam the bad news.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Sam sat under the shade of an oak tree, head downcast. He'd been wondering around in the woods at the back of Bobby's for a few hours and now he was tired.

He sensed his brother's presence, had known he'd been keeping an eye on him for days. He didn't call him on it because he knew full well that if the roles were reversed he'd have done the same.

Instead he raised his head.

"He must've been watching us for weeks."

He heard a small scuffling and then Dean was sitting beside him.

"Yeah. He was just biding his time to get back at us for leaving him tied up at Lenore's." Dean picked at a blade of grass and started to chew on it absentmindedly, a habit he'd picked up as a teenager whenever deep thought threatened. "Best guess? He spotted your frequent trips to the clinic for the checkups and couldn't resist finding out why."

Sam sensed more than saw his brother's tightly controlled temper flaring, and was grateful that Dean's voice continued with a quiet calm.

"She put up a hell of a fight Sam. Given that he felt the need to ransack the place, I don't think she told him."

Sam smirked humourlessly. "Yeah." His voice was soft but filled with an angry edge. "She died trying to protect me, and he found out anyway."

"Don't do that to yaself Sammy. It wasn't your fault." Dean's voice was still calm, but Sam heard a tinge of sadness to it.

Sam hung his head and felt the tears well up. He didn't, couldn't stop them when they rolled down his face.

Dean sighed. He wasn't a fool by any stretch, and knew Sam was crying. Slipping an arm round his little brother he pulled Sam's head to rest gently on his shoulder.

He knew all too well what Sam was doing to himself, and that just wasn't good enough. Not for Sam, not his little brother.

He knew he had to tell Sam one day. And he hated it. In fact, in that one moment he felt an undefined rage and hatred towards his father.

_If you can't save him, you have to kill him._

And now another innocent was lost. Not just a good friend that had taken care of Sam but also a damned fine doctor. He vowed to catch up with Gordon, and already had a plan forming.

He hugged his brother a little closer.

Sighing again, he reflected with rye amusement _at least we aint goddamned slow dancin'!_

_&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&_

_**Author's notes:**_

Well, I think it's safe to say that Gordon's for it, and bloody right too!

The rubbing of honey over the gums was something I found by chance whilst surfing the net for ideas. And I absolutely wasn't at work, using works resources whilst doing it.

Honest guv.

But the part about using caramel and melted chocolate instead was my idea, so if a mate of yours goes into a hypo please don't try this at home! I've no idea if it would work and it may even kill them. It's bad enough I'm responsible for putting Sam and Dean through hell, without putting an actual person in danger!

And I absolutely love all your reviews so far. It's very humbling that you guys have taken such a shine to this story, and I can't tell you how much I appreciate all your support.

Kind regards,

ST.xxx.


	6. Chapter 6

**Sugar Me Sweet Chapter 6**

_**Then…**_

_**Dean had seen his brother go through a hypoglycaemic attack before but nothing remotely on this scale. This was truly frightening.**_

_**Sam was only seconds away from a diabetic coma, probably even death, and it was that last thought that flipped the final switch in Dean's brain. He poured all his pain, all his anger into every desperate struggle and his perseverance was soon rewarded when a loud crack indicated the chair had given way.**_

_**Dean frowned as he looked at the carton, then raised it to his nose. Recoiling at the foul smell, he glanced at the use-by date and felt a new level of anger building.**_

_**I won't lose you!**_

_**He must've been watching us for weeks**_

_**She put up a hell of a fight Sam. Given that he felt the need to ransack the place, I don't think she told him."**_

_**Sam smirked humourlessly. "Yeah." His voice was soft but filled with an angry edge. "She died trying to protect me, and he found out anyway."**_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

**_Now..._**

A cold gust of wind blew rain into Sam's face as he stood at the grave. He stared down wishing like hell things were different. He felt the presence of his older brother, could feel the sidelong concerned glances.

Dean observed everything, from the subtlest of movements amongst the mourners, to the trees bending dangerously in the wind. And he observed Sam.

His younger brother was pale and withdrawn, and Dean worried he was getting sick.

He'd noticed Sam's attempts to hide it, but he was going down with something and Dean hoped to Christ it wasn't flu.

His hopes were dashed when Sam seemed to turn even whiter and he swayed. Dean caught him before he fell headlong into the grave of Harry Carpenter, MD.

Sam had been overwhelmed with grief and guilt at her death, her _murder_, and Dean had promised Sam a chance at revenge on Gordon Walker once the funeral was over with.

He knew Sam would want to attend and he couldn't blame him for that. Dr Carpenter had been the one to diagnose Sam's diabetes, had taken care of him when Dean hadn't been emotionally able to. Had taught and instructed Dean once he _was _able to.

Sam had a new doctor now. Dr Adrian Johnson. He was kind and sympathetic, was in fact Harry's partner of the clinic they ran together. But it wasn't the same.

Dean guessed that a lot of readjustments would need to be made now.

And as he held his trembling brother in his arms, he reflected that their revenge on Gordon would have to be put on hold for now.

"Sam? You ok?" When Sam didn't answer at first, Dean began to worry all over again. He pulled back a little trying to see his face under the long fringe. "Sammy?"

"I...I'm ok." Sam was nodding his head slowly. "Can we go now? Please?"

"Sure Sam. But let's just take it slow huh? Don't want you passin' out again." Dean could feel the abnormal amount of heat radiating out from Sam's body and frowned worriedly. He knew better than to say anything at this stage, and kept silent until they reached the car.

After they were both settled and heading back to Bobby's Dean glanced over in an almost casual gesture. "Ya know, maybe we should take a break for a while, Sam. Kick back, shoot some pool, have a few beers…"

"By _we_, you mean _me._" Came the blunt emotionless answer.

"Come on Sam, you're getting sick. Why don't you just admit it?"

"I'm f…"

"I know. You're fine. You already said that like ten times already, and I'm gettin' tired of hearing it!"

"Then why ask me?" Sam snapped back.

"Sam this strain of flu that's been makin' the rounds is strong enough to knock even a healthy person on their ass, but for a diabetic? That's dangerous territory man!"

They were just pulling up to Bobby's junkyard, when the fighting talk really started.

Sam finally looked at Dean, his eyes flashing angrily. "You once said that I'm not defined by diabetes, that it's just another bump in the road. So what was that Dean? Huh?" Sam's jaw was set in that stubborn way that drove Dean up the wall. "A lie?"

"Sam…"

"No Dean! You can take a break from finding Gordon if you want to, but I'm staying with it." Then he said something that really made Dean mad. "I'll go on my own if I have to."

Dean was out of the car, leaving the driver's door open, round to the passenger side and yanking Sam from his seat so fast his little brother barely had time to blink.

Dean pinned him against the Impala angrily, uncaring of the downpour.

"Don't you dare." His voice was low, but then rose to an angry shout "Don't you fucking dare talk like that…"

"Or what? You gonna hit me again?" Sam sneered, and Dean really noticed just how pale he was. The dark circles under Sam's eyes a testament to how little sleep he was getting, and there was a slight wheeze to his breathing.

Dean was close enough to smell the vague hint of pear drops on Sam's breath, and that was what alarmed Dean the most. Ketone bodies were developing in Sam's blood.

"Sam did you take your insulin this morning?"

Sam frowned. "You know I did. You saw me take it." His voice was starting to croak.

"How much?"

"The usual dose. Why?"

Dean stared at him a moment longer, before he released his brother.

"Let's just get inside the house and get dried off."

Amazingly, Sam did as he was told and eventually the both of them sat at Bobby's kitchen table, hot steaming coffee before them. Dean insisted Sam check his glucose levels and when they turned out to be rather higher than what they should've been he wasn't entirely surprised.

Sam took another dose of insulin, then quietly announced he was going to Bobby's study to follow up a lead on Gordon.

Dean inwardly sighed before following on behind. He knew what he said next could well lead to an argument, but Dean wouldn't be Dean without at least _trying_ to care for his brother, who was at this moment behaving like a spoilt brat.

"Sam, why don't you get some sleep? You look exhausted."

Sam ignored him and opened the laptop.

"Sam wouldja just look at me?"

"What dya want from me Dean?" Sam's voice carried a hint of anger once again. "You want me to just do as I'm told like a good little brother?"

Dean's own jaw clenched and his nostrils flared. "That's not what this is about and you know it! Though if you'd just listened in the first place then you wouldn't be in this mess right now!"

Dean immediately regretted his outburst but he couldn't take it back. His brother just seemed to goad him further.

Sam's eyes narrowed to slits.

"Listened like Dad wanted me to? Like a good little son? _Just like you? Well I can't alright? I tried that and I still wasn't good enough!"_

"Right. That's it." Dean turned around and left the room, before his temper got the better of him.

Sam heard the door to the house slam, the roar of the Impala as it sped away, and thanked God that Bobby was staying in town tonight to tie up some last business of Harry's.

He rested his aching head against his hands. He didn't know why he was saying these things to his brother. In fact half the time he wasn't sure _what_ he was saying.

Dean was trying to watch out for him and Sam did appreciate it, but he just wasn't coping.

He was afraid to admit that Harry's death, what Gordon had done to him recently, and the whole 'Sam's a diabetic' thing, was all getting on top of him. He felt like such a liability.

No. He _was _a liability. Gordon's little demonstration had proved that, and Sam was terrified it would get Dean killed.

But Dean was right about one thing, Sam acknowledged finally. He _was_ getting sick.

Hoping that his brother would calm down enough to forgive him, Sam hauled himself shakily to his feet, reaching out to steady himself when he felt the world spin.

He headed up the stairs, aiming for the bedroom, but by the time he got to the top, he was feeling sick and insanely dizzy. He felt like he couldn't breathe properly and his chest felt congested. Harsh wet coughs wracked his body whenever he tried to take a full breath.

_Can't be my glucose levels making me feel like this, I already took some insulin a while ago after we got back from Harry's funeral. It's just a bad cold._

Blinking rapidly to clear his suddenly blurring vision he staggered down the upstairs hallway.

But he never made it through the threshold of the bedroom before passing out.

Dean spent a little while driving round, before heading to a bar to play some poker, shoot some pool, but after two hours of worrying he decided to head back.

He hadn't wanted to leave his brother alone like that but they'd needed some space to calm down, before they said something they'd both regret.

And lord knew, enough of that had been said already.

Dean hung up his jacket on the back of the kitchen door, then headed to the study to find Sam. He still felt angry, but that anger was mostly directed at himself by now.

Sam was running a fever, his glucose had been raised, and he probably didn't even know what he was saying.

When Dean found the study empty an unaccountable flicker of fear ran through him, and he raced through the house yelling out his brother's name.

"Sam? Sammy?"

Finding no one on the ground floor, he took the stairs two at a time and stopped and stared down the hall. Sam was lying face down by the bedroom door, unmoving.

"Sam!"

Dean raced over to his brother and shook him. "Come on Sam, wake up!"

Sam moaned lightly and opened his eyes. "Wha happen…" his voice trailed off as his eyes began to close again.

"No Sammy, keep your eyes open!" Dean felt Sam's forehead just as Sam broke into round of painful coughing. A real fever was setting in now. "Did you take any more insulin? Sam? ANSWER ME!"

"N….no. Already had some…wh..when we g..got..back." Sam was struggling to breathe. Dean could smell pear drops on his breath even stronger now.

_Ketoacidosis imminent!_

"Damnit!" Dean lowered his brother to the floor and raced back downstairs. As he grabbed the glucose meter and insulin pack, Bobby arrived.

He'd cleared up Harry's last remaining business faster than he thought.

He noticed the older brother's frantic behaviour. "Oh shit! Sam?"

"Yeah. I think he's got the flu real bad. Sounds like he's got a chest infection too."

The two of them raced upstairs and Bobby watched by fearfully as Dean checked Sam's sugar levels. His gasp told Bobby things were dire.

He noticed Sam's breathing and raised a sharp question. "Kussmaul?"

Dean stared at Sam's distraught face. "Not sure." _Hope not! _"But could be. That or the chest infection, but I just can't tell!"

On the verge of panic, Dean frowned hoping the extra shot of insulin would take effect soon.

Sam opened his eyes sluggishly. "De…an. S..sorry.."

"You're gonna be ok Sam, I promise. Just hold on…"

But it was obvious that Sam's inflamed respiratory tract was being severely fucked by something.

Dean realised it then and there. Sam _was _in Kussmaul respiration because his glucose levels were rising and heading his body towards a DKA, but he could barely breathe because of the infection that was setting in. It was a complication he'd never expected.

Sam was gonna suffocate and quickly if they didn't get him help soon.


	7. Chapter 7

**Sugar Me Sweet Chapter 7**

_**His younger brother was pale and withdrawn, and Dean worried he was getting sick.**_

_**He'd noticed Sam's attempts to hide it, but he was going down with something and Dean**_

_**hoped to Christ it wasn't flu.**_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"_**Sam this strain of flu that's been makin' the rounds is strong enough to knock even a**_

_**healthy person on their ass, but for a diabetic? That's dangerous territory man!"**_

_**They were just pulling up to Bobby's junkyard, when the fighting talk really started.**_

_**Sam finally looked at Dean, his eyes flashing angrily. "You once said that I'm not defined**_

_**by diabetes, that it's just another bump in the road. So what was that Dean? Huh?" Sam'**_

_**s jaw was set in that stubborn way that drove Dean up the wall. "A lie?"**_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"_**Listened like Dad wanted me to? Like a good little son? **__**Just like you? Well I can't**_

_**alright? I tried that and I still wasn't good enough!"**_

"_**Right. That's it." Dean turned around and left the room, before his temper got the better**_

_**of him.**_

_**Sam heard the door to the house slam, the roar of the Impala as it sped away.**_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

__

_**Blinking rapidly to clear his suddenly blurring vision he staggered down the upstairs**_

_**hallway.**_

_**But he never made it through the threshold of the bedroom before passing out.**_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Dean realised it then and there. Sam **__**was **__**in Kussmaul respiration because his glucose**_

_**levels were rising and heading his body towards a DKA, but he could barely breathe**_

_**because of the infection that was setting in. It was a complication he'd never expected.**_

_**Sam was gonna suffocate and quickly if they didn't get him help soon.**_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Bobby start the car, and call Adrian Johnson. Ask him to meet us at the clinic!"

Bobby headed downstairs at a run, already dialling.

Sam suffered another violent bout of coughing, writhing in Dean's arms, clearly in pain.

Dean held him steady as best he could. "Easy little bro," he murmured softly into Sam's ear.

"Damnit Sam! I knew you were sick. Why didn't you listen to me huh?"

Dean brushed Sam's hair back from his sweat-soaked forehead. "Ok Sam, I need you to hold

on to me. Can you hear me? Sam?"

Sam opened fever-ridden eyes, and stared at Dean before his eyes slid shut again; breath

rasping with the over-production of mucous.

Dean shook him. "Come on wake up damnit!" But he finally had to admit that his big

brother bullying tactics weren't going to work this time.

He started to lift Sam up to a full sitting position, clutching Sam to him securely but not tight

enough to impede his breathing any further, then he hauled him to his feet.

Sam whimpered at the change in height, his head tucked under Dean's chin.

"I'm getting you to the clinic one way or other."

His stern words must have filtered through to his little brother's addled brain because he

whispered back. "'kay."

Dean frowned. He'd half expected Sam to fight him on this.

Sam was breathing rapidly, his body still trying to purge itself of carbon dioxide, but mucous

was building up and catching in his throat, choking him.

Dean grabbed a Kleenex from his pocket, quickly tipped his brother forward and thumped his

back. He grimaced at the grey-green glob of sputum Sam brought up, followed by another

painful bout of coughing. He held him close and steady until it was over.

Sam slumped exhausted, breathing still too fast and too laboured.

Dean gave him a few seconds to recover a little, before moving him towards the staircase, the sound of his brother's desperate panting tearing at him.

"H-hurts…" Sam rasped out, one hand clutched over his chest.

"I know Sammy. We're gonna get you some help. Try not to talk, concentrate on breathing, ok?"

Bobby climbed the stairs "Johnson's already at the clinic, and he's getting ready for us." He

gently grabbed one of Sam's arms, sliding it over his shoulder.

Between the two of them they managed to get Sam out of the house and into the back seat of

the Impala. Dean climbed in after him, raising Sam's upper body and resting his back

against his own chest. Bobby slid in behind the wheel, slammed the door, put his foot down

and the car roared off into the night.

Bobby kept glancing into the review mirror at the brothers, noting Sam growing paler and

Dean becoming more and more terrified. Another terrible round of coughing had Sam

deteriorating even further. He heard Sam's strangled cries for help, and his heart clenched

with dread.

"_D…_"

Bobby heard Dean's voice softly comforting and encouraging his brother, and wondered if

Sam would survive this time. If he didn't then Bobby was pretty sure that Dean wouldn't

either. He pressed his foot harder on the throttle.

Dean slid Sam round so that he could see his face, and held him tightly. Sam was a sickly

colour, his lips gradually turning blue as he struggled to pull air in past the raging infection in

his lungs, body quaking with fever. Dean was amazed he was still conscious.

Sam gazed up at him and reached out a hand. Dean grabbed at it and squeezed tightly. Sam

responded with a weak squeeze of his own before his breathing faltered a little more.

"Bobby hurry. He's running out of time!"

"We're nearly there!"

Dean hauled Sam a little closer so that his forehead was resting on Sam's. "Stay with me

Sam. Just hold on a little longer."

Sam's fever was at a frightening level and it was a wonder he hadn't started convulsing.

The Impala swept up to the entrance of the clinic and Adrian raced over to help pull Sam

from the back seat.

The clinic was technically closed for the night, with Dr Johnson on call for emergencies.

And this certainly qualified as one. Fortunately, he'd still been in his office finishing up

some paper work when Bobby's call came.

He had everything ready just in case, and judging by the state of his patient that was just as

well.

Sam was dragged at speed straight into the treatment room and hauled up onto the bed.

Adrian decided to forgo the sedative; Sam was rapidly running out of time.

"Hold him still Dean." Adrian donned a pair of surgical gloves, then took up a length of

tubing and a laryngoscope. As gently as he could he forced the tube into Sam's mouth, down

his throat and past the vocal chords.

Sam tried to buck, his eyes wild with panic, choking and gagging on the tube.

Dean mentally apologised to his brother before gripping his head tighter, whilst Bobby held

down his upper torso. Sam stared up at Dean, eyes pleading with him to stop this.

"Let him help you Sam, please. The tube's gonna help you breathe but you need to calm

down and stay still." He carried on talking softly until Adrian was satisfied the tube was in

place, and Sam's chest was rising and falling as the tube fogged up. He'd fixed the tube with

an endotracheal tube holder, before placing a cervical collar around Sam's neck to restrict his

movement.

Adrian nodded to Dean to indicate it was all over.

Dean smiled down at his panicking brother. "That's it Sam. Just fall into the rhythm and

relax." He brushed a few wayward strands out of Sam's eyes. "Breathe with me. Ok?

That's it, attaboy." Gradually Sam let the vent take over the job of breathing for him.

Sam blinked up at him, no longer fighting, just seeming tired, resigned and confused.

Dean stroked Sam's hot scalp soothingly as Adrian carried out his examinations.

The doctor gently unbuttoned his patient's shirt, then held a stethoscope to his chest.

Frowning at the crackling in Sam's lungs, he started firing questions at Dean, pleased with

the clear and straight forward answers.

"When was his last dose of insulin?"

"I gave him a shot just before we left."

Adrian nodded approvingly. "You probably saved his life." He checked Sam's glucose

levels. "How long's he been sick?"

Dean stared into Sam's glazed eyes all the while he spoke to his doctor. "A few days I think,

but he was trying to hide it from me, then he collapsed at the funeral this morning. After that

his glucose levels started going haywire. No matter what we did they wouldn't come down,

at least not for long."

"Ketones?"

"Yeah, his breath smelled of pear drops. I found him unconscious on the floor and he was in

Kussmaul. But he couldn't breathe properly and starting coughing his lungs up."

"Did he bring anything up when he coughed?" Adrian was checking Sam's blood pressure

by now and attaching a pulse oximeter to his middle finger.

"Sputum but it was a weird green colour." Dean watched as Sam carried on blinking slowly,

eyelids heavy with exhaustion, body shivering. Adrian handed a thermometer to Dean.

Sam flinched a little as something cold was pressed into his ear.

"It's ok Sam. It's just a thermometer," Dean muttered softly, holding the device in place. He

watched fearfully as shivers continued to wrack Sam's body.

"His glucose is too high still." Adrian announced and shook his head in frustration. He

prepared another shot of insulin, one of a slightly smaller dose baring in mind that Sam had

already been given some not so long ago. Then he set up an IV port in Sam's arm, anxious

to get some fluids into the kid to replace the ones lost by the fever.

A sudden bleep attracted the doctor's attention, and Dean withdrew the thermometer from

Sam's ear to check to readout.

Adrian raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"103.9? Shit!"

"Indeed." He pulled out another syringe and phial. "Your brother has flu, and judging by the

sounds of things it's developed into a full blown pneumonia…"

He gently tapped Sam's bare chest in various places, as Dean kept a firm grip on his brother's

hand. Bobby had retreated to the doorway, leaning against the frame listening with concern.

"…yep. It's pneumonia alright. And that's bad news for anyone, but a diabetic?" Adrian

shook his head with worry. "It's the reason Sam can't keep his glucose levels down, because

his body's trying to fight the infection." Adrian mused for a while. "After what he's been

through of late, it's not surprising he got sick."

Dean glanced at him. "You think what Gordon did to him caused this?"

The doctor shrugged. "Not caused it exactly, but it certainly contributed to Sam's stress

levels, which wouldn't have helped."

The syringe he'd prepared a few seconds ago was injected into Sam's IV. "I'm giving him a

high dosage of antibiotic. It should help fight the pneumonia if it's bacterial, but if it's viral

then it will help protect his lungs from any opportunistic bacterial infections that may cause

more damage."

Dean nodded and turned his attention back to his brother, seething with newly aroused anger

towards Gordon. Sam didn't seem to understand what was going on around him. His eyes

were filled with fear and exhaustion, and his skin was slick with fever.

"Sam?" Sam turned his eyes onto his big brother wondering why he sounded so far away.

"You're gonna be fine. We're gonna fix you up and you'll be outta here before you know

it. Ok?"

Sam blinked at him once more before the exhaustion claimed him, and his eyes slowly closed.

Dean sighed in worry and frustration.

_Sam's in for a long night._

In reality, Dean really had no idea.

After Sam was changed into the clinic's standard inpatient pyjamas, Adrian had taken blood

and urine samples, and administered hourly doses of insulin.

Come the early hours of the morning Sam's fever still hadn't abated despite the bed baths

with cool water, Dean keeping a cool washcloth on his forehead, or even the antipyretics

injected into his IV. But at least it hadn't gotten worse.

After hours of worrying and nail biting, Dean was relieved to be told that Sam's glucose

levels were finally under some semblance of control but would require constant monitoring.

As a result, Adrian felt that extubation was in order as Sam was starting to fight the

endotracheal tube. Sure he could breathe on his own and he was no longer in Kussmaul

respiration, but Sam was still in big trouble so he was on permanent oxygen therapy via a

face mask.

Adrian had then taken a sputum sample, at Sam's discomfort, and had it sent off to the

Microbiology lab at the main hospital for culture and sensitivity tests.

Sam roused from time to time, tortured by fevered nightmares. His delirium would lead to

him coughing and gasping, and at one stage Dean panicked when the inside of Sam's oxygen

mask was splattered with blood. Dr Johnson explained that this sometimes happened with

pneumonia sufferers as their airways became so raw from all the coughing.

Dean stayed with Sam all through the night, grasping his hand, stroking his hair, changing the

washcloth for a fresh cool replacement.

"_Dean…m'sorry._." Sam's voice was muffled by the mask, his breathing harsh and heavy.

"It's ok Sam. It's not your fault."

"_No..s-sorry 'bout the things I said…shouldn't have said that to you…"_

"Sam forget about that now, it doesn't matter."

"_No! It does! I said to Dad…same things…sorry…Dad…_"

Dean listened with despair to his brother's unwarranted confessions, trying to calm and

reassure him.

"_Y-you were right…"_

"About what Sam?" Dean frowned in confusion.

"_I…I am a s-selfish b-bastard_." Sam rolled his face away, his eyes closed, sweat pouring

down his face.

"Sammy…" Dean got out of his chair and leaned over his brother, running his hand through

Sam's damp hair and grasping his chin, forcing Sam to face him. He knew that Sam wasn't

really with it, and probably wouldn't remember anything later, but that didn't stop him from

trying to get through to him. "You are NOT a selfish bastard ok? I had no right to say that.

Sam.."

But Sam had drifted off again.

It wasn't until a full twenty four hours later that a breakthrough seemed evident. Sam's

temperature started to fall. It was gradual but a definite improvement.

The fevered rantings became less frequent and he even seemed a little less pale.

Another forty eight hours later found Dean still sitting at Sam's bedside, having fended off

Adrian's and Bobby's attempts to get him to go home and rest. Adrian had set up a small cot

in the corner of the room, but Dean wanted to be as close to his little brother as possible.

So he stayed in the hard plastic chair.

In the early hours of the morning Dean sat up suddenly, glancing all around him, wondering

what the hell had awakened him.

"_Dean?"_

There it was again, a small rasping voice, and he glanced over to the bed to find a pair of

tired but lucid blue-green eyes watching him from behind the oxygen mask.

Dean couldn't help himself and smiled brightly. "Hey there little bro. How ya feelin'?"

The mask twitched a little and Dean realised Sam was smiling back. "_Ok I guess. Throat_

_hurts. What's wrong with me?"_

"You got knocked on ya ass by flu and then pneumonia kicked you in the balls. That's the

abridged version."

Sam let out a small chuckle, which turned into a choked spluttering. Dean helped him into a

sitting position to ease his breathing.

After a momentary pause Sam answered "_I guess it still is, only it seems to be wearing steel_

_toe caps._"

Dean grinned. "Yeah. Adrian got the lab results back. You got bacterial pneumonia and

you're gonna have to take it easy for a while."

Sam glared at him. "_How long's a while?"_

Dean looked shifty. "A little while."

"_Dean! How long?" _Sam somehow managed to growl through the mask.

Dean sighed, dreading the argument. "Six to eight weeks, with at least half that time on

oxygen therapy."

Sam stared at him wide eyed. "_You're not kidding are you." _It wasn't a question.

Dean said nothing and just stared at the floor. He silently pleaded with Sam to listen to reason.

Sam slumped in his bed, feeling weary beyond belief, but his older brother looked like he hadn't slept in a month. In fact Dean, with dark shadows under his eyes and worry haunting his

pinched features, looked like he was getting sick himself.

"_Dean? When did you last sleep?_"

Dean glanced up and blinked, then scrubbing a hand over his face he answered "Uh, I just woke up."

Sam sighed. "_Let me put it another way. How long since you slept in a bed, with pillows and blankets and everything. Ya know? Like, not in a plastic chair and drooling on yaself?"_

"Hey! I do not drool!" Was Dean's indignant reply. Seeing the stern look in Sam's eyes he deflated a little. "Since we brought you in three or four days ago."

There was a pause.

"_Dean, you need to get some proper sleep man. You look like death."_

Dean's gaze hardened. "Yeah, but I wasn't the one playin' checkers with the bastard as my glucose levels spiralled outta control."

"_I'm sorry…"_

"Stop sayin' that. You've nothin' to be sorry for."

"_Yeah I do, those things I said…You were just trying to look out for me, and all I did was throw it back in your face…"_

"Sam…"

"_No, let me get this out. I've been a stupid, spoiled, selfish little bastard. I knew I was getting sick, but I ignored it 'cos I was didn't want to be a liability to you. After what Gordon _

_did to Harry, and then to me…." _Sam's breath was hitching and his eyes were filled with tears as he wrenched off the mask. "I'm supposed to be watching your back as you watch mine, and

I'm scared Dean. I'm scared shitless that my…_condition_…is gonna get you killed. And I _can't lose you too!_"

This statement was finished off with a painful round of coughing and Dean gently got up and replaced the mask over Sam's face.

"You need to keep that on," he said softly, before taking Sam's hand and appeared to study it closely, relishing the feel of life, Sam's _pulse,_ in his wrist. "What happened is down to Gordon. Not you." He raised his eyes to Sam's. "Never you. Ya hearin' me Sam? 'Cos I don't wanna have to say it again. _It was not your fault._ And we're both gonna have to make adjustments. We're both still learning about what makes diabetes tick, but we'll figure it out ok? I promise."

He added in a hard strong voice that brooked no argument. "And as soon as Adrian gives you the all clear, we're going after Gordon. And that's another promise."

Dean brushed a strand of hair off Sam's forehead, an action that was becoming as familiar to him as breathing. "And I always keep my promises. Now get some sleep."

Sam gave him a faint, tired smile before his eyes closed, comforted more than he could say by Dean's words.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

__

_**Authors notes:**_

Well, poor old Sam is on the mend, and hopefully Dean will get some decent rest.

As always I've employed a lot of artistic licence with the medical terminology and treatments in this chapter because it's always good to add to the drama.

Many thanks for the reviews so far and I hope this latest chapter meets with your Sam-bashing sadistic approval.

Love ya all!

Kind regards,

ST.xxx.


	8. Chapter 8

**Sugar Me Sweet Chapter 8**

**Remember this is still AU**

"_**Dean, you need to get some proper sleep man. You look like death."**_

_**Dean's gaze hardened. "Yeah, but I wasn't the one playin' checkers with the bastard as my glucose levels spiralled outta control."**_

"_**I'm sorry…"**_

"_**Stop sayin' that. You've nothin' to be sorry for."**_

"_**Yeah I do, those things I said…You were just trying to look out for me, and all I did was throw it back in your face…"**_

"_**Sam…"**_

"_**No, let me get this out. I've been a stupid, spoiled, selfish little bastard. I knew I was getting sick, but I ignored it 'cos I was didn't want to be a liability to you. After what Gordon did to Harry, and then to me…." **__**Sam's breath was hitching and his eyes were filled with tears as he wrenched off the mask. "I'm supposed to be watching your back as you watch mine, and I'm scared Dean. I'm scared shitless that my…**__**condition**__**…is gonna get you killed. And I **__**can't lose you too!**__**"**_

_**This statement was finished off with a painful round of coughing and Dean gently got up and replaced the mask over Sam's face.**_

"_**You need to keep that on," he said softly, before taking Sam's hand and appeared to study it closely, relishing the feel of life, Sam's **__**pulse,**__** in his wrist. "What happened is down to Gordon. Not you." He raised his eyes to Sam's. "Never you. Ya hearin' me Sam? 'Cos I don't wanna have to say it again. **__**It was not your fault.**__** And we're both gonna have to make adjustments. We're both still learning about what makes diabetes tick, but we'll figure it out ok? I promise."**_

_**He added in a hard strong voice that brooked no argument. "And as soon as Adrian gives you the all clear, we're going after Gordon. And that's another promise."**_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean eyed his brother as discreetly as possible whilst he fixed dinner.

Sam was sitting on Bobby's veranda busily sketching the salvage yard. Dean had been surprised that his little brother had such a fascination for the place and couldn't in all honesty see the attraction. A salvage yard's just a salvage yard. It serves its purpose.

That was until he'd caught a glimpse of the drawing over Sam's shoulder, and suddenly Dean's perspective changed.

It wasn't that he'd never expected Sam to be a talented artist; it was just that he'd never really thought about it before now.

But talented he most certainly was.

What had been a dusty yard full of rusting engines and the metal husks of beaten up old cars, _in the sketch_ it became a place of peace, of times long past, where thought, hope and reflection took over the reins from fear, remorse and death.

It had become a safe haven.

The past was here,

but it _promised a future._

Dean had glanced up, studying the yard intently. It still looked the same, no different from Sam's sketch.

And yet…._something_ had changed.

He realised that he was catching a glimpse of the world through Sam's eyes.

Sam felt safe here.

Which was pretty amazing considering that this place had not so long ago been the ugly scene of the interrogation of a demon-possessed human caught inside a devils trap, right before she died of her injuries.

Dean's eyes had flown back to the sketch. It wasn't the _place _as such that made Sam feel safe….

Dean smiled. He finally thought he understood. Although he could read his brother better than most, he still often struggled. But with a few skilful pencil strokes, Sam had conveyed everything within himself, his soul laid bare. It said everything the brothers never said to each other, at least whilst conscious.

_So it __**is**__ true what they say, _Dean thought to himself in wonder,_ a picture __**can**__ paint a thousand words._

_I love you too little bro._

Noting the dark shadows under Sam's eyes, Dean turned back to head into the kitchen. Sam still tired quickly these days, so Dean wanted to get some food inside him before he fell asleep.

They'd had too many scares already since Sam was released from the clinic…

…"_Sam? Sam wake up. Breakfast's ready. Sam?" Dean glanced closely at his brother, then pulled out the glucose meter. "Oh shit….Sam! Come on wake up…"_

It had been way too close, and Dean now made sure Sam had something to eat before he went to bed at night. He'd read online that too many diabetics had gone to sleep at night, and either been found comatose or dead in the morning by a distraught family member.

"Sam? Grubs up! Get it while it's hot!"

Sam rolled his eyes and chuckled. His big brother would never make it as a maître d!

Dean stirred the vegetable soup as it simmered away. Roast beef and mustard sandwiches made with crusty wholemeal bread waited on the kitchen table.

Dean wouldn't let white bread anywhere near his little brother since he'd read about it online, and the same went for diet drinks – not that he'd ever approved of the god awful damned stuff to start with. Diet sodas were considered persona non grata for diabetics, and, in Dean's opinion, the entire human race!

Dean made it his business to ensure that nothing but the healthiest, most nutritious food passed Sam's lips and to show willing, not only did he learn to cook from scratch but he also ate it himself. Which was kind of why his cooking skills had jumped from "crap I wouldn't touch with a meat hook if you paid me" to almost master chef proportions in the three weeks since Sam had come home to Bobby's.

He'd even stopped sneaking out at night to get his greasy-burger-and-fries fix at the nearest bar.

Not that Sam ever called him on it and even encouraged Dean to get out more often.

Yeah, right…

As a compromise, Dean and Bobby had started barbequing homemade, healthy burgers in the yard as the summer approached and the evenings grew warmer.

Sam's appetite was gradually improving though it still worried Dean just how little he was eating, and often had to force fruit, glucose tablets and energy bars on his brother.

Sam couldn't face orange juice anymore, and Dean wasn't really surprised by that. It was just another indelible mark left on Sam by Gordon Walker.

When Sam first came home after six weeks of oxygen therapy (he was adamant that if they didn't let him go by then he was walking out – which Dean seriously doubted, though he wouldn't have put it passed him to try), he slept most of the time, barely waking for meals. But as the days swam by he was staying awake for longer, and even coming down stairs to sit in the kitchen and chat with Dean and Bobby. The conversations usually ended with raucous laughter, probably initiated by one of Dean's filthiest of jokes, and that would wipe Sam out 'til the next day.

Sam was growing stronger, and Dean realised that this was the longest downtime either of them had had together since Sam joined Dean back on the hunt for their father over a year ago.

It felt good, Dean reluctantly admitted to himself, to spend time with his little brother, actually _talking._

May be there _was_ something to that psychobabble bullshit Sam was always spoutin'.

As Sam recovered from pneumonia he was becoming more thoughtful, and Dean knew exactly who his thoughts had turned to.

Gordon Walker.

Sam wasn't strong enough yet, but he soon would be.

As it turned out, when the day came that Sam finally felt ready, it was Dean that kicked it off.

"I've found Gordon. Get ya shit together Sammy. It's time to go a huntin'."

Dean and Bobby had been quietly keeping tabs on Walker ever since he'd nearly killed Sam with an insulin overdose. He'd slipped off the radar a few times but with the resources and contacts Bobby had available, Gordon soon showed up again.

Last reports suggested he'd been injured on a hunt a few states over whilst tackling a vampire nest.

_Always with the damn vampires, _Dean had thought, _doesn't he ever hunt anything else? Apart from Winchesters that it?_

The tale was actually quite laughable.

The nest had taken root in a dingy backstreet basement nightclub – quite the cliché. But the funny part came in when Gordon had found out the hard way that it was, in fact, a _gay_ vampires nest.

And Australia cross-dressing vampires at that, complete with drag queen as the nightclub's stand up comedian and host.

Or hostess, depending on which way you looked at it.

Gordon had stood out like a sore thumb, and it was by sheer dumb luck that he made it out of there before another, more _personal_ part of his anatomy became sore.

Sporting a concussion after being repeatedly hit over the head by some transvestite vampire's handbag, Gordon had gone to ground. Probably from sheer embarrassment more than anything else.

It had sounded to Dean as though Gordon had been confronted by the entire cast of Priscilla Queen of the Basement.

And of course, Dean, Sam and Bobby hadn't laughed at all.

Much.

It had been easier than Dean imagined tracking him down to a log cabin in the forested mountains. All he'd had to do was use the information he'd gained through Bobby's contacts, run a few credit card checks and make some phone calls.

Bobby, Sam and Dean were geared up by the time late afternoon arrived, and ready to roll.

Bobby went on ahead; his task was to scout round the North sector of the forest and it was going to take him longer to get there.

It was real _synchronise watches _time.

Dean glanced across at Sam.

"You ok?"

_Are you sure you're ready for this?_ Was the silent question.

Sam was quiet for a moment, staring ahead out the windshield, before turning to Dean.

His blue-green eyes caught the early evening sun as he searched Dean's face, recognising the barely concealed concern. Not so long ago, Dean's question might have angered him, but the brothers had reached an understanding.

Dean was allowed to ask, but Sam had to be truthful with his answer.

A small smile slowly formed. "Sure. Let's go get 'im" was the quiet reply.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

A sick, twisted bastard Gordon might have been, but a fool he certainly wasn't. He'd heard loud and clear through the hunter's network that Sam had survived the insulin overdose, and that the Winchesters were now gunning for him.

He didn't consider the gentle and reasonable Sam to be much of a threat. The boy just wasn't a killer at heart. Not like his brother…

Dean Winchester was a different story altogether. Gordon had seen the look in his eyes as he'd severed that vampire's head with a saw.

_Cold, disconnected, heartless, lifeless._

_A true killer._

_Someone to admire._

Until his little brother was threatened that is.

Gordon had felt Sam's fear as he pressed the needle to his neck, heard his muffled cries as the needle pierced his skin. He'd tightened his hand over Sam's mouth as he depressed the plunger, pulling Sam's head back to almost breaking point.

As compassion impeded Sam, his diabetes weakened his brother.

Dean had turned into a raging bull, desperately trying to get free, to save his brother _not_ to go after Gordon.

Gordon, for once in his life wanted a hunting partner, wanted Dean on the hunt with him, but he had to show Dean that his brother was just a hindrance. He'd hoped Dean learned his lesson after their last meeting, but that obviously wasn't the case.

Sam had to go. Had to die.

And now that the brothers were coming after him, probably with Bobby Singer in tow, Gordon wasn't going to miss an opportunity.

He grinned out into the growing darkness as he slowly sharpened his hunting blade.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Slamming the trunk shut, Dean re-checked the tranq gun.

Sam had made it clear he didn't want Gordon dead. No matter what the bastard had done to him or Harry, he didn't want Gordon's blood on his hands, _or Dean's_.

So apart from the shot guns and Glocks to fend off any possible bear attacks, at Sam's request Dean and Bobby had reluctantly loaded up with tranquiliser darts, both secretly hoping that, when the opportunity arose, they could pump the bastard so full of this shit that he'd croak anyway.

Dean shrugged on his back pack with Sam's help, then picked up the map.

"How far?" Sam asked softly in the silent dusk.

"Three miles to the North of here." Was Dean's quiet answer.

The sun hadn't long set, and a light summer breeze passed through the clearing, cooling the sweat on the boy's foreheads.

"According to Bobby it's just a rundown, abandoned hunting cabin. Not been used for years." Dean explained, his eyes narrowed as he calculated time with respect to distance and speed of travel, factoring in the odd ravines and natural springs indicated on the map. The forest was thick with conifers, which would make the going easy underfoot. No brambles, saplings or bushes could grow under such a heavy forest canopy.

"Sounds like the perfect hiding place." Sam muttered as he squinted into the evening gloom.

"Yeah," Dean smirked. "Unless you have Bobby Singer on the lookout for ya. Then ya don't stand a chance." He glanced at his watch. "Time to go."

"Hey Sam."

He turned sideways to find Dean staring at him.

"Yup?"

Dean paused for a moment before asking "What're you planning on doing with Gordon?"

Sam smiled grimly. "It's a surprise."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

When Dean had announced to Sam that Gordon had been found, Sam set his own plan in motion.

All Bobby and Dean knew was that Sam has made a few quietly worded phone calls and spent a number of hours trapping away at the lap top, with only the occasional satisfied grin, or the odd "gotcha!" and "that's it!"

They were curious to say the least, but neither could bring themselves to intrude on whatever it was Sam had in mind.

So Dean's question hadn't exactly come barrelling out of the blue. The only surprise had been how long Dean had taken to ask, but Sam still wasn't letting on.

The boys slipped quietly away into the forest.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Bobby narrowed his eyes and watched the forest with suspicion. Something didn't feel right.

Apart from the odd rustle of some rabbit or squirrel amongst the pinecones and other forest detritus, all was calm and quiet.

But even so, Bobby didn't trust it.

At the corner of his eye a large shadow loomed out of the half-darkness, and Bobby stood stock still, then slowly turned, not wanting to scare it.

A young deer, with thin delicate ears and a long thin snout was nosing about amongst the pinecones, not in the least bit worried about the stranger in the baseball cap a few feet away.

Bobby sighed a little as the deer slowly snuffled forward a few feet, it's pretty dappled coat just visible in the gloom.

There were a few other deer nearby, he realised as he slowly turned his head, scanning the area.

Bobby watched the deer as it suddenly raised its head, ears twitching, nose sniffing the air.

If Bambi and his family decided that now was a good time to run then Bobby considered himself well and truly on board.

But the deer soon settled down to rooting through the forest floor again, soft brown eyes wary and on the lookout for the slightest sign of trouble.

Bobby carried on watching, something still niggling at him.

Ok, so the deer hadn't bolted, which perhaps meant there was no immediate threat, but they were on edge, as though something had them spooked.

Bobby soon found out why.

As the nearest animal stepped tentatively forward, its muzzle caught the trip wire.

There was a loud _ping! _And the deer raised their head sharply.

Above the forest canopy something flared and burned brightly.

A brief loud pounding of hooves later, and the deer were gone.

Bobby soon followed.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam and Dean from their vantage point on a small hill to the South glanced out across the forest. It was into full night time by now, and the only light came from the glittering stars above.

"No cloud cover," Dean muttered to his brother softly. "S'gonna get real cold soon."

He could just about see the flash of Sam's teeth as he threw Dean a quick smile. "We'd best get moving then. It'll keep us warm."

Dean grinned back, covering his concern. Sam was fully recovered from pneumonia, and if anything was stronger than ever. But Dean still worried about the effect the harshness the cold night air might have on Sam's lungs.

As Dean checked the map, Sam re-checked his glucose levels. He did so every time they made a stop. It was probably over-cautious but he didn't want to take any chances. If his glucose levels started to rise he would take a small dose of insulin. If they started to fall then he took a glucose tablet, and he kept a sharp eye out on his own physical symptoms.

Sam didn't want to risk getting sick out here, not when Dean needed him to watch his back. One slip up could put them both in danger, and that wasn't an advantage Sam was willing to hand over to Gordon on a silver platter.

Dean discreetly glanced at Sam. He was, in all honesty, extremely proud of his little brother. Sam had taken complete control of his diabetes and wasn't about to let it get him down. Sam would most likely go on about how Dean had helped him through it, and to a certain extent that was true. But the rest was all Sam.

Sam had always been strong. And now he was finally realising it.

The boys prepared to move out; Dean helped Sam get his back pack on again, then tucked the map into his jacket pocket.

They were about to continue their descent into the forest when they saw it.

A few miles to the North a thunder flash lit up the sky, bathing the area in an eerie glow.

It was followed instantly by a loud _crack_ as the sound caught up, and Dean and Sam shrank back into the shadows.

"What the hell?" Dean exclaimed in a loud whisper.

"Bobby wasn't carrying any pyrotechnics,…" Sam began, but Dean interrupted.

"It's Gordon. He knew we were coming and I'll bet he has the whole damn forest rigged. Careful where you tread."

Even as he said it he took a step back and…_ping!_

"Oh shit! Sam _run!"_

And they darted deeper into the forest.

As the flare ignited and ascended the sky Dean and Sam froze, and closed one eye to save what was left of their night vision.

Standing still as statues, they let the shadows move round them as the flare exploded then fell. Anyone watching closely enough, wouldn't have found anything amiss.

The flare was used for at least three reasons that Dean and Sam could think of.

To stun, to scare, to disorientate, to ruin the enemy's night vision.

Once the thunder flash exploded in the night sky, any movement by the boys would have been spotted immediately, but by standing absolutely still, their shadows mimicked that of the trees, foiling any attempts of sniper fire.

But one other very important use for the flare, Dean reflected bitterly, was that Gordon Bastard Walker now had a rough idea of where they were, and judging by the first flare, Gordon knew where Bobby was too.

_Sonofabitch!_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Bobby had seen another flare go up shortly after the first one, and swore viciously.

Most likely Sam or Dean had tripped that one.

Bobby's area was relatively flat with decently protected grazing but up on the slopes with the Winchesters it was a different story.

It was unlikely a deer had set _that_ one off.

Bobby moved onwards silently, stepping from tree to tree, checking for more trip wires. It was another genius reason for using the thunder flashes; it enforced caution which slowed the enemy down, buying time to strategise or escape.

Somehow Bobby didn't think Gordon had any intention of escape.

Bobby halted. The floor of the forest just ahead looked …._wrong._

He watched carefully for movement.

Nothing.

He picked up a fallen tree limb and started prodding and poking at the ground in front of him. With one last, hard jab, the patch of forest floor gave way in a shower of dust and leaves to reveal a deep pit.

A deep pit with some rather nasty, and in Bobby's considerable opinion, _sharp_ looking stakes pointing up to the night sky.

Bobby smile grimly. Too easy. A deer could just as easily triggered it, like the last one. But that wasn't its purpose.

Gordon knew a trained and experienced hunter would spot it a mile off.

Its purpose was to scare, to distract.

And it worked.

As Bobby shifted to the side to edge round the lethal gap, he didn't see the looped wire. He just felt it snap round his ankle seconds after he'd triggered the second trap. And in the next instant he was swinging gently to and fro upside down, suspended by black wire from a tree.

Bobby sighed heavily as his tranq gun, along with his back pack and baseball cap fell to the forest floor.

It was so simple, child's play even.

_Guess there aint no fool like an ol' fool!_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

The forest fell into darkness once more, and the brothers relaxed a little.

"I don't get it." Whispered Sam.

"Get what? We're being hunted Sam, by Gordon, which is pretty funny 'cos last I checked? It was supposed to be the other _fucking way round!"_ Dean retorted, though he wasn't angry with Sam. He blamed himself.

Sam ignored his brother's rant, knowing it was born of frustration and worry.

"No. I don't get why he didn't just set traps to kills us out right. Why all the fireworks?"

"Early fourth of July party may be?" Dean joked, though he felt far from amused right now. He shrugged.

"He's playing games. We both know how he likes to taunt his prey. Remember what he did to Lenore…" _Remember what he did to you._

He didn't need to say it; Sam heard it dangling silently in the air between them.

Sam huffed a little. "Yeah. It's just…well. A little sick ya know? I mean, what else has he got set up for us out here?"

Dean briefly squeezed Sam's shoulder. "Come on. Let's get out of here before he tracks us. There's a ravine 'bout half a mile ahead where we can check the map." Dean turned to stare at Sam. "I want you to re-check your glucose levels just in case, and get some food inside you. I've a feeling this could be a long night."

Sam rolled his eyes in a amusement as Dean started out ahead of him.

"Sure MOM!"

"Hey! No cheek huh? Don't make me come back there bitch!"

"Jerk."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Bobby watched helplessly as Gordon stepped into view and picked up the tranq gun.

"Goodnight. For now." Gordon smiled, almost sympathetically, before squeezing the trigger.

Bobby just about made out Gordon's next words before losing his senses.

"_Dean will join us soon enough, once he's realised what a burden Sam's become."_

As Bobby's vision wavered in and out, he fought. "y..you d..ont' know those b…boys…"

Gordon leaned in closer. "I don't need to know the boys. Just one of them."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Authors notes:**_

I meant to finish this but it grew yet again. Hope I'm not boring you all with this.

Many thanks for all your fantastic reviews.

If I've missed anyone then I sincerely apologise.

Special thanks goes out to Neats, Jenilee, Supernaturalsammy67, Sendintheclowns, Faye Dartmouth, BlueEyeDemonliz, Vonnie836 and of course I can't forget Merisha. Still bloody love your art work my girl!

Oh and to a certain author out there who knows who she is: has the Titanic sunk yet mate?

And Scullspeare: once again, thanks for the confidence boost.

Kind regards,

ST.xxx..


	9. Chapter 9

**Sugar Me Sweet Chapter 9**

_**Gordon, for once in his life wanted a hunting partner, wanted Dean on the hunt with him, but he had to show Dean that his brother was just a hindrance. He'd hoped Dean learned his lesson after their last meeting, but that obviously wasn't the case.**_

_**Sam had to go. Had to die.**_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"_**Hey Sam."**_

_**He turned sideways to find Dean staring at him.**_

"_**Yup?"**_

_**Dean paused for a moment before asking "What're you planning on doing with Gordon?"**_

_**Sam smiled grimly. "It's a surprise."**_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Once the thunder flash exploded in the night sky, any movement by the boys would have been spotted immediately, but by standing absolutely still, their shadows mimicked that of the trees, foiling any attempts of sniper fire.**_

_**But one other very important use for the flare, Dean reflected bitterly, was that Gordon Bastard Walker now had a rough idea of where they were, and judging by the first flare, Gordon knew where Bobby was too.**_

_**Sonofabitch!**_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Bobby just about made out Gordon's next words before losing his senses.**_

"_**Dean will join us soon enough, once he's realised what a burden Sam's become."**_

_**As Bobby's vision wavered in and out, he fought. "y..you d..ont' know those b…boys…"**_

_**Gordon leaned in closer. "I don't need to know the boys. Just one of them."**_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean and Sam had doubled back, circled back and forth in hopes of leaving a false trail.

It wouldn't hold Gordon off forever but they hoped to buy themselves some time.

It took longer than they thought to get to the river hidden in the deep gorge and not just

because of the ducking and diving routine.

For a start they'd discovered a few more trip wires, so they'd had to slow down even more.

Booby traps soon emerged, some of them pretty rudimentary, but others were more

sophisticated and were only stumbled upon by accident.

Dean limped along on his badly sprained ankle, feeling slightly humiliated and more than a

little angry. Mostly with his brother.

When Dean accidently triggered the trap, a large piece of wood swung down on a rope,

aiming straight for the side of Dean's head. Sam had grabbed him and roughly thrown him

out of the way, and as a result Dean had landed awkwardly. Sam wasn't let off lightly either,

and took the log to his chest, sending him flying into a tree.

Sam was absently rubbing the lump on the back of his head when they staggered into a

clearing by the edge of the river. Dropping his pack, he sighed, bent at the waist and

placed his hands on his knees, drawing slow deep breaths, waiting for his vision to clear.

"You ok Sam?"

Sam twisted his head to the side and looked Dean in the eye.

"I can honestly say that I've been better." Sam replied in a flat tone.

Dean collapsed onto the ground, flinging off his own pack as he went. "Yeah, well that'll

teach you to get knocked off your feet by a flying log." He grumbled, wanting to take off his

boot but worried he might not be able to get it back on around the swelling. He didn't relish

the idea of wandering round the forest like some barefooted, tree-hugging hippy, especially

with Gormless Walker's little surprises waiting for them at every turn.

Sam just shrugged and took out the glucose monitor. When the little meter bleeped out a low

sugar level, he huffed in mild annoyance.

Dean's head shot up on hearing that. "What's it say?"

"3.1"

"You feel ok?"

"Yeah." Sam brought out a pack of glucose tablets and started

crunching on a couple, then washed the sharp taste down with some water. "I guess all that

running round and trying to dodge trip wires took more out of me than I thought."

"Take some more water Sam; you're probably a little dehydrated. We can always get more

from the river." Dean added at Sam's worried glance. Sam always refused to take more than

his fair share of water rations when on a hunt, but as a diabetic he really couldn't afford not

to. "I've got some water purification tablets if we get desperate, ok?"

Both boys inwardly grimaced. Although the tablets would make the water relatively safe to drink, it wouldn't improve the flavour and if anything made it worse.

"Yeah, ok." Sam drank a little more before passing the canteen to his brother, then took out a pill bottle before throwing that over too. "Take two of those for your ankle. It'll help with the pain and hopefully take the edge of the swelling."

He knew better than to suggest abandoning the hunt until Dean's ankle healed. Sam really wasn't in the mood to be yelled at again. It had been bad enough after the flying log incident, when Dean had gone ballistic because his little brother had nearly been badly injured whilst protecting him. That, of course, had happened _after_ he'd checked to make sure Sam was breathing and conscious.

Sam had been winded by the log and his ribs ached, but his head slamming into the tree really hadn't helped matters. He'd lain there dazed for a few minutes as Dean crawled over and 

checked his pupils. Declaring him free of concussion, Dean had really let his temper out of its cage.

Sam grinned to himself. He was used to Dean's typical reaction when his little brother played the protector, and always heard the silent message of thanks underneath all the ranting.

So he just did what he always did: nodded and ignored him. It was the brotherly equivalent of the hen pecked married man's "yes dear" in response to his wife nagging him about leaving the toilet seat up yet again.

"How far to the bridge?" Sam asked as he stood up and stretched.

Dean checked the map then got up and moved to the edge of the gorge. "Not long to go. There's a path running alongside the river that leads right up to it."

"Assuming the path hasn't been booby trapped," Sam added.

"Assuming the _bridge_ hasn't been booby trapped," was Dean's reply.

They were silent for a moment, as both brothers considered the possible consequences of trying to cross a bridge that may have tampered with by a psychotic hunter.

Sam stared into the darkness, listening to the river moving swiftly along about twenty meters below. "Maybe we should swim across." The suggestion was half-hearted.

"Nah. The bridge is Gordon's only link to the outside world that can take a car. I doubt he's messed with it too much." Dean slapped Sam on the back and grinned. "Come on Sammy. We'll just tiptoe across."

As they turned back, Sam muttered "What? You take ballet classes now? Huh." He shuddered. "Ew! Just had the image of you in a tutu. Not a pleasant sight!"

Dean halted. "Dude! Don't do that. I only perform the Dying Swan on special occasions."

He gave a camp shrug and slight tilt of the head, before mincing across the clearing to his back pack, Sam chuckling in his wake.

Sam bent over his own pack, tucking the glucose meter inside.

"Hey Sam, y…" there was a groan and muffled thud.

Frowning, Sam glanced up wondering why his brother had stopped talking so abruptly, only to find Dean lying on the forest floor, apparently unconscious.

"Dean!"

Before he could make a move towards his brother, a slight rustling sound distracted him, and Gordon emerged from the trees at the back of the clearing. Sam recognised the tranq gun instantly.

"What've you done with Bobby?" He demanded, voice sharp with anger.

Gordon grinned. "He's sleeping. Had a hard day." He circled slowly to the left, stalking Sam. "I have no quarrel with him. I'll let Bobby go once I've cleared up a few things."

Sam briefly glanced at Dean, relieved to just make out the slow rise and fall of his chest in the near-darkness. "What things?" He hoped to stall for time, and remembering how much Gordon liked the sound of his own voice he didn't think it would be difficult.

"Well, Dean and I need to have a long talk. You're nothing without him. But ya see, he doesn't need _you_ Sam. He's never needed you, but especially now. I mean, who the hell ever heard of a diabetic hunter?" Gordon shook his head with genuine sadness. "It's not gonna work Sam. One of these days you're gonna slip up, and Dean'll end up dead trying to 

protect you." He pulled a .45 out of his jacket pocket. All the time he moved closer and Sam backed away.

Sam eyed the weapon warily. "I'm flattered by your concern, but what does that matter to you?"

Gordon picked up Sam's pack, casually examining it. "Oh it aint you that matters, Sam. You're as good as dead, but Dean…now he's a real hunter, smart, quick, lethal. He's just the hunter I'm looking for in fact. We'll make a great team. But the only way to make sure that happens is take you out of the equation; Dean won't join me unless you're gone."

Sam snorted sarcastically. "Yeah sure. Sorry to disappoint, but Dean doesn't make a habit of teaming up with lunatic hunters."

Gordon appeared to ignore him. "I'm sorry Sam." He raised the .45. It was the look of real regret on Gordon's face that added insult to injury.

Sam turned sharply and ducked into the trees just as Gordon opened fire. He heard the bullet slamming into the conifer just over his head, and found himself showered with pine splinters.

Several more thudded into the trees as Sam tried to move fast but silently.

Circling back, he hoped to draw Gordon away into the trees, then get back to Dean.

Forgoing his own tranq gun for now, Sam drew the berretta from his waist band and stood with his back to a pine, trying to control his breathing, listening out for Gordon.

But heard nothing. He carefully moved round the next tree and the next until he spotted his prone brother on the floor of the clearing. Gordon was just visible over to the left, successfully tracking Sam.

Taking a huge chance, Sam darted out from the cover of the trees and opened fire, but Gordon was gone in an instant, leaving Sam standing alone in the clearing with his drugged brother. Realising they were both vulnerable, he grabbed Dean under his arms and dragged him out of the clearing, then leaned him back against a tree. Turning in a defensive stance on one knee, his back to Dean, Sam squinted, trying to spot Gordon through the darkness.

The next shot confirmed several things.

One, Gordon was closer than he thought.

And two, a bullet to the shoulder hurt like a bastard.

Sam was thrown backwards by the impact, and lay on his back trying to breathe through the pain. His own gun had flown out of his hand and Sam had no idea where it'd landed.

He reached out and rifled desperately through Dean's pockets only to find that Gordon had already disarmed his brother_. _

_The fucker. When did he have time to do that?_

Knowing he had to move fast in case the next shot hit Dean by accident, he gritted his teeth, got to his feet and ran. Clutching his shoulder, feeling the blood oozing through his fingers, he tried to get to his pack.

He stopped and stared in disbelief when he realised it wasn't where he'd left it.

Hearing soft footsteps behind him, Sam slowly turned to face Gordon.

The bastard had the nerve to smile at him, right before he squeezed the trigger once more.

The bullet tore into Sam's thigh, eliciting an agonised scream from the young Winchester as he collapsed to the ground.

Gordon released the empty clip from the .45 and let it fall, as Sam rolled around whimpering in pain.

"Gordon…don't do this. Please…" he panted, then roared in agony, back arching, neck muscles standing out, when Gordon stretched out his foot and ground it against the wound on Sam's leg.

And all Gordon had to say for himself was "I'm sorry Sam" yet again, as he pulled another clip out from his pocket.

Sam's pain-fogged mind realised that he was just a few feet from the edge of the ravine, then kicked out at Gordon, striking him on the kneecap. There wasn't whole lot of power to it, but Gordon grunted, more out of surprise than in pain, and dropped the clip.

Sam seized the opportunity to drag himself over to the ravine, and with one final regretful glance in his brother's direction, he rolled over the edge.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Gordon picked up the clip and reloaded, before silently moving to the edge of the gorge. He stared into the dark, searching for any sign of the younger brother. He smirked a little.

_The kid's got guts._

He turned and headed back to the other Winchester. Gordon checked his breathing, then dragged open Dean's eyelids and shone a torch into each one. The pupils were still blown and Dean didn't even flinch. He was well and truly out of it, but it wouldn't be long before he woke up.

Hauling Dean into a fireman's lift, Gordon trudged into the trees for quite some way, until he came to the battery operated quad bike and leaned his burden against one of the rear wheels.

One more trip back to the clearing and he had both back packs loaded on to the bike. Holding Dean up on the seat in front of him, he turned the ignition and the quad bike made a low whirring noise. It had been specially designed for hunters that wanted a faster mode of transport through rough terrain. It was also exceptionally quiet, an aspect that had proved useful tonight.

Gordon grinned. Even if Sam survived the fall and made it out of the river in one piece, the kid was still fucked without his insulin.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

When Sam had made his decision he'd had one thought in mind. Gordon had no intention of killing Dean. It was Sam he was after, but if he thought Sam was dead then the game was over.

He hit the water gasping at the cold, before being swept away down river. Struggling to keep his head above the surface, he kicked with his one good leg, whilst the other remained limp, too painful to move. At the least the cold of the river kept the ache at a low ebb, as it did with the wound in his shoulder.

Sam knew he had to get out of the river as soon as possible before hypothermia set in, but trying to catch a hold of something to help him _float,_ let alone escape the fast flowing current was proving downright unlikely so far.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been in the water, but as far as he was concerned it was _fucking long enough!_

He was freezing, weak from blood loss, and the ache in his head from the earlier collision with a tree was starting to annoy. Sam felt his body slowing down, his heart rate right along with it, and could barely hold his head up.

He had to get out of this river _now!_

Up ahead, hope loomed in the form of a bridge and Sam struck out towards it. As he got closer he reached up to a low beam….and missed.

_Shit._

He had one last chance before he passed under the bridge altogether, and could see the next and final low beam as he surged through the water.

Sam tried again, and this time he got lucky. He felt his hand connect with the wood, halting his movement and the river water surged round and buffeted against him.

Reaching up with his other hand and grimacing at the strain on his injured shoulder, he took a few deep breaths and started a sideways movement across the beam towards the shore. It was slow going and Sam had to halt every few minutes to get his breath back.

After what seemed like an eternity, in which stars died and new planets could have been formed, he made it to the end of the bridge. Groaning with pain and exhaustion, he tried to haul himself up onto the bank, but fell back. Sam was too wrung out and a part of him just wanted to collapse back into the water and let it take him away.

But what goaded him on was his anger at Gordon. Sam knew that Dean would put up a fight once he was awake. His older brother had a knack of antagonising people, and that included anyone that held him prisoner, so it was a given that Dean would provoke Gordon into lashing out. _Especially_ if Gordon told him his little brother was dead.

_And of course he was going to._

Gordon wasn't stupid, but he was living in a world of his own if he thought he could talk Dean round to his way of thinking. No, Gordon would resort to torture if necessary, and any other brain washing tactics he could think of.

The sadistic bastard.

And that was why Sam held on, and fought once more to get himself out of the river.

Heaving himself on to the bridge, he lay there panting and shivering furiously from the cold.

Taking stock of his injuries, Sam took off his belt and wrapped it round his thigh just above the wound. He'd already lost too much blood, so he wrenched the belt tight. A strangled gasp of pain left his lips as he tied it off.

Breathing heavily, he shrugged out of his jacket and button down shirt. Wadding up the shirt he ruthlessly pressed into his shoulder, and bit down on his tongue, drawing blood, before fixing it in place by tying the arms of the shirt round his torso and shoulders.

Job done, if rather painfully, he put his sodden jacket back on. It wasn't much protection against the cold, but it was better than nothing. He placed his hopes in the warm summer night that it would dry him off sooner rather than later.

Dean was gonna hate it, but once again Sam was coming to the rescue.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean came round slowly, his eyelids fluttering sluggishly.

_God I feel like shit!_

But what he couldn't quite figure out was why his left foot felt so cold. Then he looked down and realised his boots had been removed, and his injured ankle was immersed in a bowl of water.

"Wha' the fu'?"

"Hope you don't mind, but I couldn't help notice that your ankle was swelling up. Thought it was a bad sprain at first, but it looks like it's broken." Dean's head swivelled drunkenly, trying to find the source of the familiar voice. "Once the swelling goes down a little, I'll splint that right up."

A rattling noise echoed round the…_log cabin?_

_I don't remember Sam and I getting this far…_

"S…Sammy?" Dean slurred, but he was pretty certain that voice didn't belong to his brother.

Then a face came directly into his line of sight.

"No. I'm afraid that Sam and I exchanged some rather harsh words over your future." Gordon Walker grinned at the disbelieving expression on Dean's face. Then the smile changed to one of sadness. "Sam's dead, Dean." He held out the pain killers.

Dean stared at him, ignoring the pills. Then started shaking his head.

"No. No he's not. He can't be….no!

"Dean, it's true…"

NOOOOOO!"

"I'm sorry. But he just wouldn't listen to reason. Sam was gonna kill me Dean, and I stopped him. We fought but he fell over the edge of the ravine; I tried to save him but it was too late."

Dean felt as though his heart was about to explode in his chest. He started hyperventilating, harsh breaths causing the blood to race through his veins.

He struggled to stand, but realised he was tied to the chair. He wanted to kill Gordon.

No way was Sam dead. He'd know it somehow, he just _would!_

Dean vaguely heard Gordon's voice droning on but barely paid attention. He was too focused on his anger, and all consuming grief at the vague thought that maybe Gordon was telling the truth.

"…I tried to tell him that you were better off hunting with me, and that he should just leave. He was a liability to you, Dean. You didn't need him hanging round your neck like a dead weight."

Dean finally roared in pain and frustration.

"_He's not dead you bastard, he's not!_"

The sympathy died on Gordon's lips to be replaced by anger. "Don't be stupid Dean. You know what I'm saying is true."

Dean shook his head "I'm not listening. You're talkin' out your ass! He's _not dead!" _He knew he had to control his temper, but the after effects of the drug were still lingering.

Gordon let loose a small noise of frustration. "You disappoint me Dean. Why can't you see? We made a great team once, and we can again. Why fight it?"

Dean glared at him, breathing heavily. "You really are a can short of a six pack aint ya?"

The sarcastic tone caused a small twitch in Gordon's face.

A loud groan startled the both of them.

Dean knew who _that_ was.

"Bobby? You ok?"

Dean soon realised that he was sitting back to back with Bobby Singer, who was probably also tied to a chair.

"Yeah. Uh…how many beers did we get through last night for Christ sake!"

"Take a look around. This place seem familiar to you?" Dean defaulted to his usual jovial sarcasm in times of stress.

"What the hell…?"

"And of course, this delightful vacation, complete with rope and special lessons on rope _bondage_, has been provided by our wonderful and insightful professor:

Gordon Walker ladies and gentlemen!" Dean interrupted, slightly aware that he may be going crazy.

"Dean…" Bobby tried to warn him.

Dean glanced up at Gordon. "I'd give you a standing ovation, but…ya know. Tied to a chair and all that." Dean gave one of his most annoying grins.

Which soon became the target of Gordon's fist.

Dean's head snapped to the side and felt blood rolling down his chin. But it didn't stop him grinning.

Because he could see the doubt in Gordon's eyes.

_He's not sure about Sam!_

_And I know he's still alive._

"Dean, cut it out ok?" Bobby growled. As usual the older Winchester was gonna push this guy too far, and god knew what the consequences would be.

But Dean was buying time. Sam was on his way and then Gordon was dead meat.

"Don't know what you were thinking Gordon. You honestly thought I'd believe anything _you_ say?" Dean smirked. "Not a chance dude!"

Gordon smiled slightly. "Still in denial huh Dean?" He slowly drew out his hunting knife, then ran in lightly over Dean's arm. "Ok. I shot him first. Twice in fact. _Then_ he went over the edge." He stared at Dean.

His prisoner saw the truth in his eyes, because he suddenly went postal.

"_You sonofabitch! I swear to god I'm gonna kill you, you sick fuck!" _Gordon watched in amusement as Dean wrenched at the ropes.

Bobby tugged at his own ropes. "Dean calm down for fuck sake!"

"Join me Dean. You're a great hunter, but Sam held you back with his moral conscience and his countless questions…he wasn't a _real _hunter."

Dean snarled at him. "He's a better hunter than you'll ever be!"

Gordon smiled once again, this time sliding the blade under Dean's bound wrist and pressing hard enough to slice into his flesh. "Ok, so assuming he survived the fall, the river, the 

gunshot wounds, how long do you think he'll survive without his insulin?" He turned sideways and indicated Sam and Dean's backpacks.

The cabin went deadly quiet as Dean and Bobby weighed that up.

"If he _is_ alive, then he won't be for much longer. I saw him take those glucose tablets, Dean. Tell me, how long do you think he has before his sugar levels start to rage out of control?"

The cabin suddenly lit up as something outside flared brightly.

Dean grinned. "_Long enough you asshole!"_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam struggled onwards, following the dirt track away from the bridge. He just about remembered the route from the map, and he just had to hope that it wasn't rigged with more booby traps. Maybe Gordon didn't believe they wouldn't make it this far….

That was short lived as he found the next trip wire.

Shaking with cold and blood loss, Sam _hadn't_ lost his clarity of thought.

Eyes narrowed, and drumming his fingers lightly on his wounded arm, he smiled.

And moved on.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Gordon swore and back handed Dean across the face, and as frustration got the better of him thrust the hunting blade deep into Dean's upper arm, pinning him to the chair more effectively than the ropes.

Dean let out a long roar of pain before slumping. Breathing heavily, eyelids at half-mast, he watched as Gordon slammed out of the cabin.

"Dean, you ok?" Bobby turned his head slightly trying to gauge Dean's injury. "What did he do? Dean!"

"I….m'ok. Just gimme me a minute." Dean's head fell back as he gasped from the left over shock of the agony in his arm.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam had found the cabin after a lifetime of limping painfully along that damn track. He'd avoided the numerous trip wires and booby traps, until he came to the last one.

_That was the one he triggered._

The thunder flash soared up, turning the night sky into an orchestra of light. Then he watched as Gordon left the cabin in what looked like an angry panic.

"Sam! I know you're out there. Pretty foolish sending that flare up ya know?" Sam saw him glancing all around, seeking him out. "You've lost the element of surprise Sammy. A _real _hunter doesn't do that."

Sam smirked, then shuddered and swayed. He had to act quickly. He'd been too long without insulin and was still bleeding from his shoulder, though the leg wound had slowed to a trickle.

Sam picked up a decent sized stone and threw it as hard as he could, then listened as it bounced off a tree on the other side of the yard. Gordon's head turned swiftly.

It was a simple trick, one that anyone who watched enough TV would know, but it worked.

Unfortunately not long enough for Sam to get inside the cabin and free his brother. He just made it to the other side of the building in time to see Gordon turn and head back.

Sam tried to think, which was becoming a real task now. His breath caught in his chest, aggravating his shoulder.

_Come on! Think!_

Then it came to him. Spotting a gap in the slats that led underneath the cabin, Sam kitten crawled his way over and examined it. It was used to store wood, but as he crawled inside, he realised that the space extended underneath the entire building. In fact, as he lay on his back and shimmied along, he found that he could just see through the floor boards.

Sam's luck had taken a turn for the better. He still had the fully loaded tranq gun.

And he was lying right under Gordon Walker.

Hearing his brother's distinctive cry of pain, he grinned humourlessly, took out the tranq gun and aimed upwards, the muzzle pressed between the gaps.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Looks like you were right Dean. Your brother's tougher than I thought."

"Got that damn straight you bastard!"

"Now now. Let's not be hasty." Gordon wrenched the hunting knife out of Dean's arm.

Dean cried out in agony and felt warmth trickling down his arm.

"I'm a patient man. I can wait 'til your little brother goes DKA on me, and then we can continue with our discussion."

He watched as Gordon opened his mouth, but a small _whump_ resounded throughout the room, forestalling anything he had to say.

Gordon's eyes slowly crossed as his hands clutched at his groin, then he slumped to the floor with soft groan.

Dean stared at the fallen hunter.

"Well, that was novel."

"What happened?" Bobby tried to crane his neck, but only succeeded in straining a muscle.

"I dunno. Groin strain may be?"

A loud thumping came from beneath their feet.

"Dean?" A weak voice sounded through the floorboards. "You ok?"

"Sam! We're fine, just get your ass up here now and take your insulin!"

There was a short silence before Dean got an answer.

"'kay."

Bobby and Dean heard a small scuffling noise as someone clumsily crawled out from under the cabin, followed by unsteady footsteps, and then the door creaked open.

Dean sighed in relief when he saw his little brother leaning heavily against the doorframe.

"Sam you look like shit dude!" Which at least earned him a weak smile.

But it was obvious to Dean that Sam had reached the end of his endurance. He took in the blood on Sam's leg and torso as his brother stumbled forward, then crashed to his knees beside the unconscious Gordon.

"Sam just get to the back packs and take your god damned insulin! NOW!"

But Sam wouldn't, or maybe couldn't pay attention, his mind set on another task.

He grabbed Gordon's hunting knife, then crawled to Dean and started cutting away at his ropes.

As soon as one wrist was free, Sam began hyperventilating and placed the knife in his brother's free hand, trying to send a silent message.

Then collapsed face down on the wooden floor.

"Sam!" Dean desperately cut the ropes on in other wrist then was down beside Sam in an instant, flipping him onto his back.

Sam's eyes were half open as he struggled to breathe.

"Shit!" Dean hobbled over to the back packs and started tearing at the straps, pulling out everything he could find, 'til his hands fell on the waterproof box of insulin. Grasping a phial and syringe Dean made it back to his little brother as fast as he could.

Hands shaking, he plunged a hypodermic through the rubber seal and drew back a measured dose, flicking it to remove the bubbles.

"Ok Sam, here it comes. You're gonna be fine, just hold on." Dean jabbed the needle into Sam's arm.

Dean got to his feet, quickly released Bobby, then went back to Sam.

Tilting his head back to open Sam's airways, he supported his neck with one hand and ran the other through Sam's hair, trying to calm him down.

"That's it, just breathe Sammy, just breathe." Dean smiled sadly down at him watching the pain on Sam's face, and wishing he could take it all away. "Ya did good Sam. I don't know what that bastard really said to you, but I can guess. And don't you believe it for a second. Ya hear me? _Don't you fucking dare believe him!"_

It seemed to take forever for the insulin to work, but gradually that glazed look in Sam's eyes faded.

Sam stared up at Dean, then reached out a hand and pressed it against his older brother's wounded arm, still breathing a little heavily.

Bobby had grabbed the remains of the rope and was busy tying Gordon up, but listened discreetly to the brothers, as Dean took care of Sam.

"Y…ya bl-bleeding." Sam's gaze was filled with concern as he tried to stop the blood flow.

Dean shook his head. "Yeah. I'm competing for the title of Blood Donor of the Year, Sam. Though something tells me I aint the winner here." He looked Sam over, taking in the belt wrapped around his thigh. "And what the hell didja do to yaself huh?"

Sam smiled tiredly, his breathing almost back under control as the insulin did its job. "Had an argument with Gordon. Apparently he wasn't happy that I didn't see things his way."

Dean grinned back. "That Gordon huh? He's such a kidder."

"Dean? Gordon's coming round already. Guy's got the constitution of a bull on steroids. What ya wanna do with the bastard?" Bobby called over as Gordon groaned softly.

Dean's gaze hardened and turned to face Bobby, before throwing a gaze filled with contempt at the semi-conscious Gordon. Something was nudged into his hand, and he turned to find Sam giving him the tranq gun.

"You can't Dean, please. Just knock him out again."

Dean stared down at him for a moment then slowly nodded. "It's your call Sam." He whispered softly.

Dean forced down his murderous urges, aimed the tranq gun and fired.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Bobby and Dr Johnson stood at the end of the beds, arms crossed, faces stern.

"No way."

"Aw come on Bobby, just one huh?"

"You can't do the puppy dog look Dean, so don't even try."

Dean turned to Sam and shrugged.

So Sam tried. "But…"

"Not happening." This was Adrian Johnson. He'd long ago grown immune to Sam and his beseeching looks and wasn't about to give in now. "I repeat, until I give you a clean bill of health, NO BEER!"

Sam glanced across at his older brother. "Sorry dude."

Bobby had somehow managed to get the brothers back to the Impala on the quad bike, with Gordon tied humiliatingly across the back, and now they were guests of Sam's doctor at his clinic, well and truly bed ridden.

Dean's foot was in a cast, and it'd been touch and go with the knife wounds. He'd damned near croaked because of an infection.

Sam had suffered surgery to remove the bullets from his leg and shoulder, and spent a few nights on oxygen therapy to counteract the effects of making like a teabag in the river. The chest infection was nothing serious, but Adrian wasn't taking any chances. Sam had lost consciousness on the drive back, and Dean had been terrified. So blood transfusions, x-rays and many other tests had been carried out just to make sure Sam was safe.

Dean although in bad shape himself, had stayed up watching over Sam, checking his glucose levels, and making sure he could breathe properly.

And now here they were, grinning at each other like idiots.

"So Sam." Adrian sat beside the younger brother's bed. "What did you do with Gordon…?"

Dean leaned forward, eager to hear this one…

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Before the hunt had even begun, Sam had made some phone calls, hacked into a few law enforcement databases and generally stitched Gordon up like a kipper.

He'd managed to make contact with the Australian transvestite vampire nightclub. It turned out they were friends of Lenore's and although they were wary at first, they soon agreed to help out.

By the time Sam had finished with Gordon, he had a rap sheet longer than his own arm.

Multiple complaints of sexual harassment from the nightclub, accounts of assault, indecent behaviour, peeping tom, theft of the drag queen's favourite vibrator, and a host of others too numerous to mention.

Bobby, under Sam's instructions had left Gordon bound, gagged and naked in front of the local law enforcement precinct, which resulted in another charge of indecent exposure.

Attached to his chest had been a friendly note.

_To whom it may concern,_

_Gordon here has been a very naughty boy. Just run a check on his fingerprints._

_We leave him in your well intentioned care, with all our best wishes._

_Oh, and please find enclosed the address to his apartment. You might find his personal computer of some interest._

_With fond regards,_

_A well intentioned citizen._

Sam had arranged, through the Australian vampires, to set up an apartment in Gordon's name, along with a computer that seemed to have an extraordinary amount of illegal porn downloaded onto its hard drive.

Gordon, even whilst being dragged through the station in full view of all the offenders he was likely to share a cell with, had protested his innocence.

But no one was listening.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Adrian did his best to sound and look disapproving, but as Dean burst out into laughter, he couldn't hold it in any longer.

"You did WHAT?" Adrian and Bobby both glanced at each other, then a low rumble suggested the build up to full on guffaws.

"Oh man…Sammy you're a fucking genius little bro!" And Dean nearly choked himself senseless.

Sam just grinned a little smugly and waited 'til the laughter died down a little before asking "How much soap on a rope dya think he'll actually need? 'Cos I was thinking of sending a parcel…"

"Stop it!" Dean yelled, clutching the stitch in his side, and gave that high pitched laughter that suggested he was gonna be loud for quite some time.

All in all, it was generally agreed that after everything Gordon had done, he'd gotten off lightly.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

A few more days went by before Adrian allowed the boys to return to Bobby's.

Dean was on crutches, and Sam relied on a cane whilst his leg healed.

Though his shoulder was stiff, he still sketched the salvage yard, but his heart felt lighter than it had in ages.

By the end of the first day, Sam had finished the sketch and after dinner presented it to Bobby.

It was wrapped in brown paper, and Bobby had frowned and glanced at Dean, who merely shrugged.

Ripping off the paper, Bobby stared at the sketch for such a long moment that Sam was worried he didn't like it. Then he slowly turned it round to show Dean.

It was a drawing of the yard alright, but this one was different from the last one he'd seen.

So life-like it was breath taking, Sam and Dean, with Bobby standing behind them, a hand on each of the boy's shoulders, appeared to be laughing and joking together with the Impala in the background.

The room had gone silent for a while and Sam shifted nervously in his seat.

"Uh…guys?"

Bobby went to the cooler and pulled out three beers. Placing them on the table, he briefly rested a hand on Sam's shoulder. Staring out the window to the yard, he muttered "its beautiful Sam. Thank you."

Sam raised his beer. "To Harry."

Dean and Bobby raised their own beers in a silent salute.

Dean took a swig of his beer, hoping it would wash down the lump in his throat, and decided to lighten things up a little.

"Yeah, but it's still not as beautiful as that stunt you pulled with Gordon dude!" He chuckled. "And that's just the tranq dart in the jewels!"

The laughter started all over again, and continued long into the night.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Authors notes:**_

Well that it's for now. Hope you liked Gordon's punishment, and yes it is a little bit out of character for Sam, but I just couldn't resist it.

Hope the Sam-bashing continues to satisfy.

Many thanks for all your reviews. Really enjoyed reading them, and they've proved extremely encouraging.

This is the end for now, but I do hope to write another chapter at a later date.

I really must get on and finish my other fics before they stagnate.

Kind regards,

ST.xxx.


	10. Chapter 10

**Sugar Me Sweet Chapter 10**

_**Introducing the one and only gorgeous Salma Hayek as Maria... **_

"Sam!" Dean wrenched open the motel room door and scanned the street, eyes searching desperately for any sign of his lanky, mop headed little brother. Slumped against the doorframe, Dean sighed. Sam was long gone, crept out whilst he was asleep, even after he'd promised Dean he'd give him more time. He turned back to the room and slammed the door behind him, and that was when he spotted it. Sam's duffle bag and laptop, stuffed under the desk.

So he _hadn't_ taken off.

"Thank God!" Dean groaned and sunk down onto his bed. His brother had probably just gone for a walk, to clear his head maybe.

And Dean couldn't in all honesty blame him. After the demonic plague that had caused the entire occupants of Rivergrove to turn Norman Bates and kill each other, a demonic plague that Sam had been fully exposed _yet immune_ to, Dean had finally dropped the bombshell on Sam.

_Dad told me that I had to save you. And if I couldn't save you, I'd have to kill you._

Yeah. That went down well. Like Sam hadn't come damn close enough to death a few too many times since he was diagnosed with diabetes, that now he needed a full on invitation?

Predictably, Sam had been shocked. He'd stared at Dean, eyes wide and scared, and if Dean wasn't mistaken, more than a little hurt.

Then the shouting started.

"What does that mean? Why did you didn't tell me before?" Sam's voice had started low and hurt but soon rose to booming levels of white hot anger. "Huh Dean? I once asked you outright if Dad said anything to you before he died. You were the last one to see him alive, and I...I had to f...find him..." voice breaking with grief, Sam had abruptly turned away at that point, hand already over his eyes, swiping at the tears in despair.

And the penny finally dropped for Dean. He really hadn't understood until now what was going on in his brother's head, but then that was pretty much pot calling kettle black.

"So what does it mean?" Sam repeated softly.

"Sam..."

"What does it mean?" Sam was back to shouting again, and Dean tried not to flinch at the raw fury and panic his heard in his brother's voice. "Am I supposed to go dark side or what? Tell me!"

"I just don't know Sammy." His own voice shaking a little with desperation, Dean had grabbed his shoulders and forced Sam to look at him. "He never said any more than that, but I swear to you we'll figure this out. Just promise me you'll give me more time."

Sam had stared at him for a few seconds, blue-green eyes awash with pain. Dean could feel him trembling violently in his grip. "Sam? Please...promise me?"

Sam knew what he was asking; Dean could see it in his eyes that he understood.

_Don't leave me. You're all I've got left that matters._

Now Dean was staring sadly at the manky motel carpet, idly wondering if he should go looking for his little brother. He felt torn between wanting to give him space and watching 

his back; knowing that Sam was out there somewhere, alone and hurting, just didn't sit well with Dean.

He decided to risk his brother's anger and at least try to track him down discreetly, maybe just hang back and keep an eye on him. Hurriedly throwing on a pair of jeans, lacing up his boots and grabbing his leather jacket, Dean strode out into the dark.

After briskly walking a few blocks he glanced at his watch. Hmm. Two am. The sound of breaking glass and loud laughter caught his attention, and he turned in the street to face the only bar in town. Dean's eyes narrowed. Surely Sam wouldn't be stupid enough to go back there after Dean had quite blatantly hustled a lot of money out of a lot of people?

And said people had been pretty pissed about it if the small dent on the rear fender of the Impala – someone's boot – and the small chip in the windshield – angrily thrown rock – were anything to go by.

Going inside was definitely the least sensible option and would only lead to another bar fight. Definitely not top of Dean's growing list of priorities for once; he needed to find his brother. _Now._

He squinted at the building, circled to the left then the right and nodded to himself. There was a small entrance at the side where one of the barmaids was tucked away, leaning against the door smoking a cigarette. Dean recognised her; petite frame, pretty face, long dark hair, Hispanic origins. Sweet. He sauntered over and turned on the charm, but in a protective older brother way that had her swooning over him within seconds.

"Aw, that's so sweet that you look out for your little brother!" Maria stated in a low, sexy Hispanic voice that made Dean think of chocolate covered strawberries, and in particular the act of sucking them up out of her belly button. "What's he look like?"

Dean leaned in close, green eyes flashing seductively. "Freakishly tall, shaggy brown hair..."

Maria immediately drew back in shock. "_He's _your brother? The tall guy with the dog T-shirt?"

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He hated that stupid shirt and one of these days the damn thing was gonna mysteriously disappear. "Yeah that sounds like Sam."

"Then you better hurry and find him before its too late." Maria was no longer playing the seduction game. In fact she looked frightened as she stared up and down the street, checking to see if anyone was watching them. Her voice lowered. "Your brother was in the bar a couple hours ago, had a few beers on his own in a quiet corner booth, but one of Frankie's guys got real drunk and started making trouble, pushing him around. Sam tried to leave but the guy wouldn't let him. So Sam took him out with a single punch to the jaw."

Dean smirked a little. He didn't like hearing Sam being mistreated but he'd been on the receiving end of a Sammy-right-hook before – Sam _hated_ Dean calling it that - and knew that it was like being hit by a high speed brick.

Maria chewed on her lip worriedly, and it was sexy as hell, and Dean wanted to die. "Everyone in the bar cheered except Frankie and his guys, and Sam who ordered a bottle of tequila and sat back in the booth, alone. He didn't move again until that bottle was empty." She lit another cigarette and blew the smoke out into the chilly night air. "After he left I noticed that three of Frankie's men had also left, and then another two followed."

Dean frowned. "That could be just a coincidence," but he knew it wasn't. _And what the hell did Sam think he was doing downing a whole bottle of Jose! _"This Frankie...he one of the guys I played pool with this afternoon?"

"Yeah, and he's real trouble." Maria nervously tapped the gathering ash from her cigarette, "He's the local _businessman_..." she said it such a way, and a lift of her shoulders, that made Dean grit his teeth, "...dabbles in anything illegal from drugs, firearms, auto theft...you name it. And he would kill me if he knew I was telling you all this. So you didn't hear it from me." Another furtive glance back down the road and she gave Dean a gentle push "now go. Find your brother, he won't be far. Frankie has no problem with crapping on his own doorstep."

"What do you mean?" Dean could already hazard a guess but he needed to hear it.

Maria stared up at him, sympathy shining in her almond brown eyes "The last person that crossed Frankie was brutally murdered." Her gaze became sad, and Dean _believed _her when she said "He was _my_ brother. And he was found in a trash can."

And Dean started his frantic search.


	11. Chapter 11

**Sugar Me Sweet Chapter 11**

"Here's to you _Dad_!" Sam downed his…what…six? Seventh shot of tequila? Didn't matter, whatever. It was taking his mind off his stinging knuckles, and slowly numbing his taste buds, which was more than fine by Sam. It meant that he could now down the rest of the bottle without actually tasting the bitter liquid, yet still manage to achieve the blessed state of drunkenness he desired. Namely, complete and utter oblivion.

Because it all just hurt so damn much. He wanted the pain to go away and leave him alone.

His dad had told Dean he might have to kill him. So did that mean…

Sam didn't want to finish that thought but his traitorous mind continued.

_So did that mean, if Dad had lived he would have killed me? Could he really have killed his own son?_

Which led his thoughts onto the real question, probably the most hurtful one of all:

_Did he really hate me that much?_

He felt his heart shattering and he took another shot, hoping to drown out the pain.

And another.

But it didn't work, so he took another and another, and to his surprise suddenly the bottle was dead. He tipped it up, squinting with one eye shut, trying to make out if the bottle was truly empty or if the rules regarding gravity had been changed and no one had bothered to tell him.

That sure would be one in the eye for old Isaac!

Sam snorted softly. And wouldn't that be just typical; no one bothering to tell him. People whispering behind his back, telling each other things about him that even Sam didn't know…

He was horribly aware that his thoughts were now so jumbled that he could no longer make any sense of them.

Sam gripped the table and just about made it to his feet without falling over, though the trek to the bar was a real challenge; throwing some notes down on the dark wooden surface, not caring that he'd tipped way too much, Sam eventually made it to the door.

He didn't notice he was being closely watched. Couldn't have given much of a shit if he was.

Sam stumbled out into the night and staggered along the side walk. He felt strangely cold and started shivering, even though it was a warm night. It was almost as though his blood sugar levels were bottoming out. He shrugged, uncaring.

_Fuck it. Let them. It would save Dean a job. Save him from the task of having to kill his own brother._

Sam's eyes started stinging and welling up with tears. He deserved to die, it would be better for everyone that way; his mother and girlfriend had been killed on account of him, his father had hated him, and Dean…well, Dean didn't need the burden of a diabetic brother getting himself in trouble all the time. Dean deserved so much better than this and he certainly shouldn't have to bear the guilt of taking out his only brother.

He stopped and hastily wiped at his eyes.

He didn't see it coming, didn't even feel the impact until he was doubled up on the hard ground, clutching his stomach. Winded, Sam blinked and squinted up at his attacker, his alcohol soaked brain recognising him from the bar.

"Wha…?" He was interrupted by a solid kick to the sternum and he gasped and choked.

The boot was drawn back, ready for another kick but Sam was ready this time and caught it, yanking the guy off his feet.

It was amazing how quickly a person could sober up when needed.

"You little bastard." Bar guy ground out, and almost as if by magic an evil-looking flick-knife appeared in his hand.

Sam got to his feet, swayed and leaned against the wall, still squinting at the guy. Ok perhaps not completely sober. He still had a way to go yet.

With an audible click, the blade was out and ready. Sam locked eyes with his attacker.

"M'not little." Sam slurred out, as he attempted to draw himself up to his full height. It was a mistake. The world tilted, dark spots danced in front of his eyes and he swayed violently once more. Swayed right into the arc of the upcoming blade, which penetrated his shoulder, slicing through skin and muscle. But Sam barely felt a thing. He wrenched away from Bar guy, leaving the knife firmly embedded and kicked out, sweeping his legs out from under him. Bar guy went down like a sack of shit, and Sam finished him off with a heavily applied boot to the back of his head.

It wouldn't kill him, but it would take him out of commission for a few hours.

Sam heard voices coming from the bar and backed off into the shadows. His shoulder was starting to sting by now, and blood was already dripping generously on to the ground. His right arm dangled uselessly at his side, whilst his left hand came up to pull the knife free. But his strength was waning and he couldn't get the damn thing out. The best he could do was support his shoulder and try to keep the blade still.

Sam slumped further against the wall and dragged his way along, completely unaware of the trail of blood he was leaving smeared all over the concrete.

The voices grew louder and just before he disappeared into the safety of a dark alley, he looked back along the street. Several men had left the bar and seemed to be looking for something. Or someone. As they drew closer, Sam realised these were Bar guys friends and when they found him lying unconscious they were going to be furious.

He wasn't wrong.

Sam stumbled along once more and just as he was desperately looking for a place to hide, he heard shouting.

"Hey! Over here!"

"Where'd he go?"

"Not sure…" There came the sound of moaning, possibly someone manhandling Bar guy. "Tony…_Tony…_Where'd he go?"

"Damn fool. I told him not to go after the guy alone."

Yep. They'd found their friend and they clearly weren't happy. Sam smirked a little as he opened up a dumpster and, with some difficulty, climbed in. It was foul, the smell of rotting meat and vegetables invading Sam's sinuses. At least he had something soft to lie on but Sam just couldn't bring himself to question what. It was a nightmare he could do without.

Pulling what felt like a moth eaten old piece of carpet up and over him as best he could, he tried not to think about what it might have been used for in the past.

He braced himself when he heard running feet, willing his breathing to slow. Whoever it was passed right by Sam's hiding place, almost close enough to touch, and Sam blew out a silent breath of relief. Despite the maudlin thoughts he'd been having over the last few hours, his self-preservation instincts had cut in, grabbed him by the shoulders, shaken him roughly and told him that taking on four men whilst extremely drunk, and incidentally badly injured, wasn't the best idea he'd had in a while.

So he stayed there in the nostril-hair quivering darkness of the dumpster. After a while, he really felt the cold start to kick in and he couldn't stop shivering. But just like before, it felt weird. He considered calling Dean, but couldn't find the energy to pull his phone out of his pocket.

Sam laid his head back, resigned to staying put until he was sure it was safe.

What he didn't know was that his glucose levels were indeed bottoming out, but it was further complicated by the amount of blood he was losing. Before he could realise what was happening to him he was already unconscious.

__

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He watched Maria as she flirted outrageously with the stranger. It was the hustler from earlier in the evening, whose brother was being hunted down at this very moment.

Almost hidden in the back doorway to the bar, she leaned into him then pulled back sharply a look of fear crossing her face. Then the two of them started earnestly talking in soft tones.

He drew closer and felt his anger grow. _What the hell did she think she was doing? Talking to him about this?_

An unpleasant grin pulled at his already rather unpleasant features as Frankie made his way back to the bar.

"Where's that damn waitress of yours?" Frankie demanded thumping his fist on the bar, but the look in his eyes suggested he knew damn well where she was.

Jamie, the barman, cringed and nodded. "I'll go get her Frankie, it's no trouble." Before he could step back Frankie reached over the bar and grabbed him by his shirt.

"You do that. And then I want you to close up for the night." He dragged the poor frightened bartender closer, breathing alcoholic fumes over him as he whispered menacingly "You go home and you don't look back, ya hear?"

The barman swallowed hard, couldn't find the words and just nodded furiously. He knew what was about to happen but was too scared to do anything about it.

"And don't do anythin' stupid!" Frankie released him, shoving him backwards. "Remember what happened to ya Pa."

Oh he remembered alright. His father had wandered into the garage one afternoon and a few seconds later the entire building had exploded.

So, yeah. Jamie knew better than to try anything stupid.

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Dean took off at a run, Glock in hand and ready, scanning the streets. Maria had already disappeared back inside the bar when her boss came looking for her.

He was pretty sure that he'd nearly run into the small mob that was after Sam, but with some pretty impressive displays of agility had managed to evade capture by swinging up onto someone's fire escape and laying perfectly still. He didn't really want to have to use his firearm unless he had to; not wanting to draw the wrong kind of attention to himself and his brother, though if asked he probably couldn't explain what the _right_ kind of attention would be. The bad guys after them weren't supernatural, but calling the cops wasn't an option either.

After an hour or so of searching, Dean's despair was through the roof. He tried Sam's cell again but still got voicemail. He thought he'd searched every street, checked every trashcan and dumpster possible, yet he'd still found no sign of his brother.

Every instinct was telling him that Sam was in deep shit, and that was _before_ Dean got hold of him. Because Dean was determined to beat the living crap out of him for this. Sam had been gone for possibly hours without taking his insulin with him, got himself drunk, and was now being chased by the local drug dealers. The only consolation Dean could see was, judging from the conversations he'd overheard whilst balanced precariously on the fire escape, Sam hadn't been caught. They were still looking for him, so maybe Sam wasn't too far gone in the drunken stakes and had been able to hide himself.

Dean crept back passed the bar again, startled to see that the building was now in darkness.

_Maria must've closed up early and gone home._

Something on the side walk caught his eye and he crouched down to examine it. Dean cautiously dipped in his index finger and scooped some up. Though it was still wet it was also tacky, as though in the process of drying; he raised it to his nose, already guessing at its identity.

Blood.

And something told him this was Sam's blood. There was a trail of it heading to the shadows at back of the sidewalk. Dean followed it in hopes that Sam was hiding in the darkness and that his injuries weren't serious, but the building in front told him a very different story. For a start Sam wasn't there; there was no drunk little brother staring up at him sheepishly, mumbling about how sorry he was. But there _was _more blood. All over the wall as though Sam had stumbled against it, using it as a means of support. Which meant that he was in a bad way and could barely stand, though Dean hoped it was mainly down to the tequila.

Heart pounding fiercely now, he followed the trail quietly and cautiously into an alley and stood there staring ahead into the dark, listening intently. It was dead quiet, not even a stray animal rustling amongst the bins. This alley was filthier than most since it was closest to the main street, sandwiched between a coffee house and a diner. It was also smaller and hidden away, which was why Dean hadn't spotted it before, the streetlights not being powerful enough to reach it.

Dean didn't have his flashlight with him, so he took out his cell phone and flipped it open, using the backlight to guide him.

The light was dull and not exactly ideal, but it was just about bright enough to show up a bloody handprint on the lid of a dumpster. Dean holstered his Glock and held out the phone, reactivating the backlight when it switched itself off.

Reaching out with his other hand, he grasped the handle and pushed hard until the lid slid back. Nothing. No sign of Sam.

Dean swore and closed the lid. Running a frustrated hand through his hair, Dean spun round.

"Sammy? You down here somewhere?" He called softly. But his voice was met by the same stubborn silence as before.

"Come on Sam, give me a sign here." Dean whispered more or less to himself. He soon got what he asked for when he picked up the trail of blood again, and it led further into the shadows.

To another dumpster.

Dean didn't bother hesitating this time; every instinct screamed at him to get the lid open _now!_

He all but threw back the lid, saw what looked suspiciously like his brother's tangled mop of brown hair and yanked away a nasty smelling rug.

To reveal a very pale, badly bleeding and unconscious Sam.

"Shit!"

In order to assess the damage Dean realised he'd have to get inside the dumpster. But that wasn't what disturbed him; his little brother was covered in blood, from the waistband of his jeans right up to his neck. It was even in his hair. And Dean couldn't figure out where it was coming from.

"Sammy?" Dean patted Sam's face, "Come on buddy wake up!" Sam's head just rolled listlessly to the side.

Dean checked his pulse. It was faint and fast; not at all healthy but it was better than no pulse at all, and his breathing was shallow.

Then he started examining Sam for injuries. It didn't take him long to find the knife buried in his brother's shoulder.

"Christ!" Dean held the cell phone closer so he could get a better look. It had stopped bleeding, the blood congealed round the blade. It wasn't deep, the only real threat was blood loss, and it did look painful. But when he touched it Sam remained unresponsive.

"Damnit Sam I need you to wake up!"

He had to get Sam out of there and back to the motel room, but it wasn't going to be easy if his brother remained unconscious. Then a sudden thought occurred. He reached into his inner jacket pocket and removed a small glucose meter. Ever since they'd been stuck out in the middle of nowhere, with Gordon Walker hunting them, Dean had decided to carry a spare in the event of an emergency. Gordon had tried to kill Sam several times by using his diabetes against him, and as a result Dean also carried spare insulin in case Sam went hyperglycaemic, and high sugar-content candy in case he went the other way.

The tiny meter bleeped at him. Judging by the readout, Dean was gonna have to employ the candy. He pulled it out of his pocket and ripped off the cellophane before popping it in Sam's mouth; when the brothers had discussed such possible emergencies they'd decided on any candy that came attached to a stick, that way if Sam was unconscious Dean could hold it in his mouth without him choking on it. And that's just what he did now; one hand under Sam's neck supporting his head and the other with a death grip on the wooden stick, his thumb held fast under his chin forcing Sam's mouth closed.

Dean settled in for a long wait. He wrinkled his nose in disgust at the smell, got the nasty sensation something was crawling over him and he shuddered. He didn't think it was a rat, at least he hoped not, but it might have been a spider…or just his freaked out mind playing tricks on him.

Sam became aware of several things. Firstly, there was a heavy weight on top of him, pinning him down. Secondly, the tremendous agony in his shoulder. And thirdly, there was something disgustingly sweet in his mouth. He shifted a little, trying to get his bearings, but the movement caused the pain to spike and he moaned softly.

"_Hey! Sammy! You with me yet? Come on wake up!"_

Sam could hear a familiar voice calling him and struggled to open his eyes. He was highly confused when the darkness that met him was almost like having his eyes shut, and for a moment wondered if they still were. But a dull glow caused him to blink slowly, and he was met with his brother's face grinning at him.

"Welcome back little bro."

Sam frowned and peered up at Dean. "Ya gonnna k..kill mmee nnow?" He mumbled round the candy. "shhhhouldd've llleefft mmee hhere." His head would have fallen back if Dean didn't have a tight grip on it.

Dean froze. There was something about the way he said it. He wasn't referring to Dean killing him for running off, leaving him to worry about him.

"C..cccouuld've saavved ya a b…bullet."

Ah.

_Now_ he understood.

"Don't talk like that, ya hear me?" Dean whispered sharply. In his fear and anger he wrenched the candy out of Sam's mouth, grabbed a fistful of his shirt and yanked him closer, fully intending to bawl him out for his stupidity. But Sam cried out and grimaced in pain, screwing his eyes shut.

_Of course, the knife in his shoulder._

"Ah shit Sammy, I'm sorry." Dean held the cell phone to Sam's face, shocked at how much paler he's suddenly become. Sam's head lolled away from him as he panted and whimpered through the agony, eyes still shut.

"_Hurts…"_

"Yeah, I know kiddo." Dean whispered as he checked out the wound and his heart sank. It was bleeding again. Not good. He wrenched off his jacket, bumping his head lightly on the lid of the dumpster and barely noticing. Next came his button down shirt which he fashioned into a makeshift sling for Sam's arm.

When he finished and sat back, Sam was gazing at him through half-closed lids, jaw slack and perspiration beading his face as he continued panting lightly. Dean wondered if Sam had any idea what was going on around him.

"Sam, I'm gonna get you out of here, but I need your help. And I need you to be real quiet, ok?" Dean waited for an answer and for a moment there he didn't think he'd get one, as his little brother carried on staring at him. Then Sam blinked wearily and gave a small nod.

Reaching out with his good arm, Dean grabbed it and gently pulled him up into a sitting position, the trash bags beneath him rustling in response. When Sam swayed, Dean held him steady.

"Easy now. Nice and slow." Waiting for Sam to get his breath back, he slid back the lid quietly as possible and peered out into the alley. All was clear. "Let's get you up."

So the brothers began the process of getting out of the dumpster. Dean could hear Sam hissing in pain, breathing heavily as he tried to hold in his cries.

Once he was on firm ground, Dean had hauled his brother over the side by grabbing hold of his belt and pulling hard, catching Sam before he could hit the ground.

Sam's knees buckled and Dean held him close, waiting for the pain come under some semblance of control before moving off back up the alley.

They managed to get a few blocks closer to the motel before Sam virtually collapsed from exhaustion.

"Come on Sam, don't do this to me buddy. It's not far now." Dean tilted Sam's jaw up to reveal eyes glazed over with pain. "Not far now." He repeated softly, and Sam nodded wordlessly, before struggling to his feet once more. "That's m'boy."

Sam really was trying to help, his feet stumbling along in uncoordinated movements, but Dean was struggling to hold him up. Fortunately, the motel was now in sight and Dean sped up when he heard a car rumbling in the distance. He didn't think Frankie's men were still looking for them by now, probably having given up hours ago, but he wasn't going to take a chance.

The key was soon in the lock, the door open, and Sam deposited on the far bed. Dean didn't hesitate before grabbing the first aid kit, getting a wet washcloth from the bathroom and setting to work.

The knife had to come out. But Dean couldn't give Sam anything for the pain, especially with all the alcohol swimming round his bloodstream. He poured peroxide solution over the wound, wrenching a groan from Sam. Ripping the knife out could cause more muscle 

damage, so Dean was faced with the worrying task of pulling it out slowly. Cutting Sam's shirts away, he took a calming breath and began.

Sam bucked violently, squirming, his head rolling from side to side. He was back to panting and whimpering as the blade was slowly but steadily revealed. Dean struggled to hold him still, and Sam made some awful gagging and grunting noises as he tried to keep from disturbing the neighbours.

It seemed like forever before the damn thing was out, and Dean dropped it onto the nightstand as though it had burned him. Not stopping to allow Sam time to get his breath back, Dean started cleaning and stitching. Fortunately, his brother had passed out by now, the pain having become way too much for him.

Once he'd finished, and Sam's shoulder was tightly bandaged, Dean took a swig of whiskey from his hip flask. He leaned back in his chair to watch over Sam, check his glucose levels, and make sure he didn't develop a fever.

_Jesus what a night!_

He was going to make Sam talk about this at some point, but first he wanted to get the hell out of Dodge, put this town in his review mirror, and go find someplace safe for Sam to heal.

It was a damn good job Dean had no intention of sleeping, because Sam's words kept coming back to haunt him.

_Are you gonna kill me? Should've left me here. Could've saved you a bullet._

Oh yeah. They were gonna talk alright.


	12. Chapter 12

**Sugar Me Sweet Chapter 12**

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"_**Where's that damn waitress of yours?" Frankie demanded thumping his fist on the bar, but the look in his eyes suggested he knew damn well where she was.**_

_**Jamie, the barman, cringed and nodded. "I'll go get her Frankie, it's no trouble." Before he could step back Frankie reached over the bar and grabbed him by his shirt.**_

"_**You do that. And then I want you to close up for the night." He dragged the poor frightened bartender closer, breathing alcoholic fumes over him as he whispered menacingly "You go home and you don't look back, ya hear?"**_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Dean didn't bother hesitating this time; every instinct screamed at him to get the lid open **__**now!**_

_**He all but threw back the lid, saw what looked suspiciously like his brother's tangled mop of brown hair and yanked away a nasty smelling rug.**_

_**To reveal a very pale, badly bleeding and unconscious Sam.**_

"_**Shit!"**_

__

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Dean had been awake most of the night apart from the odd doze. Checking Sam's glucose levels every half hour, he'd been dismayed to see them slipping; each time Dean popped fresh candy into Sam's mouth, and when he ran out he resorted to force-feeding his unconscious brother heavy glucose drinks. Dean really had no idea what was going on and ended up calling Sam's doctor, Adrian Johnson, for advice. After apologising for calling at such an unsociable hour he explained the situation, and when the conversation was over Dean was about ready to kill his brother.

Alcohol.

The damn tequila Sam knocked back that evening was responsible for his current mild hypoglycaemia. In fact, Dean strongly suspected that when he first caught up with his little brother in that grimy dumpster, his hypoglycaemia was somewhat _more _serious than mild. But Adrian assured him that as the alcohol made its way out of Sam's bloodstream his glucose levels would revert to normal; all Dean had to do was keep monitoring the situation and feed his brother either sugar or insulin as circumstances dictated. Just in case, the doc offered to swing by; apparently he was only a couple of towns over, but Dean put him off. It was a dangerous town and he didn't want another of Sam's doctors to bite the dust on their account. Sam felt guilty enough over Harry's death as it was. Instead he agreed to call him and arrange to meet in the next town should anything go wrong.

Whatever happened, Dean was certain that Sam was to face one mean mother and father of a hangover when he finally awoke. And that would serve him right as far as Dean was concerned. The little shit should've known better and from what his doctor said, Sam _did_ know better than to do something so reckless. Apparently they'd discussed diets and excesses a few months back. Sam, worried about how much beer in one session was considered _too_ much, had asked about alcohol and diabetes and been told that everything in moderation was fine, but that _excess_ alcohol consumption could lower his blood glucose to dangerous levels.

"And when exactly were you gonna fill me in on that little morsel, huh Sam?" Dean hissed at his sleeping brother. He could've kicked _himself_ for not knowing something like that, especially after all the medical research he'd done when Sam first became ill from diabetes. Dean hadn't known Sam was diabetic at the time, but found out the hard way just after their father died, and, at the end of a hunt, Sam quite literally dropped into a diabetic coma. Sam had been keeping secrets from Dean back then, and it seemed nothing had changed on that front.

Sam frowned and moaned softly in his sleep, shifting slightly on the bed as if in discomfort. Dean's expression softened a little. He shouldn't be too hard on the kid, he supposed. Finding out your own father once regarded you as the next Pol Pot couldn't have been easy to deal with, especially when Sam had spent most of his young life at odds with the guy.

The next readout showed that Sam's glucose levels had indeed stabilised, and Dean allowed himself to fall into a fitful sleep.

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A loud knocking had Dean leaping up, grabbing his gun and standing by the door, anxious to put himself between whatever threat may be lurking outside and his wounded brother. He cracked open the door and stiffened in amazement. Dean recognised him as the young guy he'd seen tending the bar with Maria earlier that night.

"Jamie? What you doin' here? And what the hell happened to your face?"

Jamie glanced around nervously, his badly bruised eyes squinting at the street behind him, before facing Dean again. "Can we talk? Please?"

Dean didn't move, just stared at him. "Why? What's happened? Maria ok?"

Jamie seemed to sag at hearing his waitress's name. "She's dead. Frankie saw her talkin' to you, told me to bring her in and close up the bar. I thought he was just gonna fire her or just scare her maybe, but I didn't expect...that's when..." He shuddered, fighting back tears. "That's when he beat her to death with a pool cue. And when I tried to stop him, his goons started on me."

Now that he mentioned it, Dean noticed that the poor kid had trouble standing and seemed to be clutching at his ribs. "You'd better come in," Dean told him, probably against his better judgment.

Jamie limped through the door and nearly stumbled until Dean grabbed his arm and helped him to the one and only motel room chair. The one by Sam's bed. The visitor stared at the occupant of the bed wide eyed, then turned to Dean.

"My brother," Dean explained reluctantly. "It seems Maria aint the only one that pissed off Frankie tonight."

Jamie glanced back at Sam worriedly. "So he's the guy they all went looking for. Word has it Tony stabbed him." He lowered his gaze to Sam's bandaged shoulder, then turned back to Dean. "He gonna be ok?"

Dean, eyes narrowed, studied the kid for such a long time that Jamie shifted nervously in his seat. Eventually his assessor nodded slightly. Dean didn't trust anyone other than Sam, especially when it was Sam's life at stake, but he was pretty sure the bar manager's concern was genuine, and was still in shock at seeing one of his friends and employees battered to death.

"I managed to stop the bleeding and stabilise his glucose levels." At Jamie's questioning gaze he added. "Sam's diabetic. Though not too many people know that..." Dean's voice trailed off pointedly with a slight dip to his head, and Jamie understood. _It had better stay that way._

"Uh...sure." Jamie glanced around the room. "Shouldn't you two be heading out? Frankie won't stop 'til he finds you and Sam. Once his mind's made up about someone he _never_ stops. That's why I'm here, to warn you."

Dean folded his arms. That was the sixty-four thousand dollar question. He _had_ planned on dragging Sam out of this shit hole of a town and taking him to safety, but his brother still wasn't up to travelling and now he felt responsible for Maria's death. The waitress had flirted with him in a side doorway of the bar during her break, and pretty much told Dean where to find his wayward, and as it turned out _drunken_ little brother. She'd also warned him that the guys Dean had hustled earlier were after Sam, determined to punish him for the money they lost at pool. Clearly, they'd been watched and Maria had paid the ultimate price. Jamie, is seemed, hadn't gotten off so lightly either.

Feeling that he perhaps owed them one, so to speak, Dean made up his mind.

"I want you to stay here and keep an eye on my brother. No one comes through that door unless it's me. Ya hear?" Dean loomed over the young bar manager.

"Uh...yeah I hear you. I promise, no one gets to your brother." Jamie swallowed again on seeing the fierce determination in Dean's eyes.

Dean pulled out the glucometer. "You know how to work one of these?" At Jamie's hesitant head shake, he grabbed Sam's lifeless hand. "I want you to keep an eye on Sam's blood sugar levels. Prick his finger, let the blood well up then use the test strip on it. You don't need much so don't go bleedin' him dry. Then insert the strip _here_ in the monitor. After a while it'll bleep and the readout will tell ya how Sam's doin'." Dean handed it over. "If his levels go too high or too low, you call me. Ok?"

Jamie stared at the tiny meter. He wasn't sure about this; having seen enough blood spilt in one night to last a life time, he wasn't certain he could deliberately hurt someone, even therapeutically.

"He won't feel it." Dean added quietly, as though reading the kid's mind, "and besides, Sam's use to this."

Taking a deep breath, the young bar manager smiled shakily. "Ok. I can do it."

"Good boy."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean gathered a few essential items from the trunk of the Impala in preparation for his..._activities._ What he'd rather be doing was bundling his little brother into the back seat and having it away down the road towards the nearest hospital. But someone had died tonight helping him, and young Jamie was now putting his own life at risk for the same reason. Dean had wondered briefly about finding another motel, but decided against it. He was reluctant to move Sam right now, and in a small town like this any such antics at that time of the morning would be spotted and suspicions immediately aroused. He needed to act quickly though, before Frankie came knocking at their door, and he would before long. Leaving town would prove downright tricky under the watchful eyes of Frankie's men, and Dean didn't want to leave Sam alone with a virtual stranger for longer than necessary.

It didn't take Dean long to find them. He figured they'd head back to the bar until morning. Some of those guys looked like the 'drinking the night away' types, and sure enough he found them playing poker in the back room, while the rest of the building was shrouded in darkness.

He started by picking the lock at the front entrance, as far away from the poker game as possible. Once the door was unlocked Dean didn't go in, just moved silently along the outer wall until he came to one of the cobweb infested windows that showed four men seated at a green felt covered table, and two standing by the main entrance to the room. With a tiny _squelch_ Dean sealed the window shut with a highly powerful industrial strength gel adhesive, before moving back to the other side of the building and performing the same action. Then he headed for the rear exit which led straight into the poker room, and sealed it shut from the outside. Dean grinned as he melted silently away into the shadows.

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Tony, who was still grumbling about his aching head, suddenly looked round at one of the windows. "You hear that?" He asked aloud, but no one paid him any attention. Tony shrugged, thinking he was imagining things. He'd been pretty jumpy since he attacked that drunken kid out on the street. The little bastard was tough; Tony had to hand it to him. With his bloodstream loaded with an entire bottle of Gold and a knife in his shoulder, the young guy had still managed to floor 'im.

But now Frankie wanted him dead, _and _the older brother. Even Tony couldn't really understand it. The brothers were obviously drifters, moving from place to place, never putting down roots. Chances were they'd never set foot in this town again, why did it matter? But Frankie wasn't the type to forget an insult, and being hustled by some punk _in his_ _own bar_ was definitely considered an insult. To top it off the guy's younger brother had the nerve to show up later in the night, swaggering in like he owned the damn place, and gets himself drunk. Like he had a death wish or something.

It was a shame about Maria though. Tony thought she was hot, not to mention made the best enchiladas he'd ever tasted. But Maria had known the rules. Do the job, take home your pay, don't ask questions. _Don't interfere. _Hell, even the town Mayor knew better than to stand in the way of Frankie, and the local politicians were considered dumb even by Tony's standards.

So the only one left behind the bar was Jamie, and Frankie had sent him home. At least he thought he had. It was unfortunate the kid stuck around long enough to witness Maria's _punishment_, and had even earned himself a good beating.

Tony suddenly sat up straight. There was that noise again. Nothing obvious just the sound of someone _being stealthy_, and it was coming from the back entrance this time. He stood, made his way over and listened with his ear close to the door. He frowned at the faint squelching noise, as though some sticky liquid was being squirted into the cracks between the door and the frame. When it stopped Tony carried on listening for a few minutes, but was met with silence. He tried the door but it was locked, so he tried to turn the key and it wouldn't budge, as though it had been cemented into the lock, with no hope of ever moving.

Backing away Tony called over his shoulder, "Hey guys-," he was interrupted when a lock clicked behind him. The muscle guarding the main door turned in wary puzzlement and one of them tested the handle. "Boss? These doors are locked."

Frankie frowned in annoyance. "What the fuck ya want me to do about it? Cry? Get the damn keys!"

"Uh, Boss?" This was Tony, and he sounded a little scared as he turned to face Frankie. "So's the back doors. We're trapped." This was confirmed by an animalistic grunt from one of the guards as he tried to turn the key in the lock.

The room went silent as Frankie strode to the door in exasperation. But his henchmen were right. The door wouldn't budge. When he placed his ear to the door, he could hear a strange glugging, as though someone was pouring liquid from a bottle. Several bottles in fact. It was followed by the smashing of glass, then silence.

All men, guards and poker players alike stared at each other in wary bewilderment.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean watched in grim satisfaction from a safe distance as the building exploded in a loud _whoomph_. Flames shot skywards and eventually the sound caught up, mushrooming with the smoke, and even from where he stood, stumbling back against the wall from the aftershock, Dean could smell the burning liquor he'd liberally spread round the main bar area, imagined it evaporating violently in the heat leaving the sugar to caramelise and burn. He hadn't really intended to go through with it, only wanting to scare them into confessing and leaving town, but when he found Maria's mutilated and beaten body, left lying carelessly on the floor next to the pool table like a discarded rag doll, his temper got the better off him.

Dean knew enough to make the explosions look like an unfortunate accident, sealing the doors and locks shut with glue that would soon melt to nothing as the hot flames raged. But he couldn't bring himself to leave Maria there, not when she deserved better. So he decided to leave her body lying outside the main doors to the local ER, covered in a soft blanket. At least that way, her death wouldn't go unnoticed; she wouldn't be just another poor unfortunate that disappeared off the map.

He felt his phone vibrate in his jacket pocket and snapped it open, eyes not leaving the road. "Sam ok?"

There was a pause. "I think you'd better come now." Jamie's voice shook with worry. "Sam's glucose levels..."

"It's ok, just give him one of the drinks..." Dean began soothingly.

"No, you don't understand! He's glucose levels have shot up and he's having trouble breathing!" Jamie virtually screamed in panic down the phone. "I don't know what to do..."

Dean felt like panicking himself. "Has he got a fever? Jamie!" Dean barked out when the kid carried on rambling. "Check his temperature! There's a thermometer in the first aid kit."

There came a scuffling noise and a few heartbeats later another bleep, though a different tone from the glucose meter.

"Uh...102.8." Jamie recited. "And Climbing!"

_Shit!_ "It's ok Jamie, I'm not far out. On my way." Dean snapped the phone shut and put his foot down.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Minutes later, Dean hammered on the door as loudly as he dared and it soon swung open to reveal an extremely anxious Jamie. Dean shouldered his way in asking abrupt questions and heading straight for his brother.

"Any change?"

"Nah. In fact I think he's gotten worse."

"Has he spoken?"

"He asked where you were, then he said something about a 'Jess'?" Jamie shook his head worriedly, watching as Dean laid a hand, palm up on Sam's forehead.

Dean stiffened a little on hearing the name of Sam's dead girlfriend on the lips of a stranger, but wisely said nothing.

"Hey Sam, can ya hear me buddy? I'm back." Dean frowned when he got no answer. He turned his hand and ran it down Sam's cheek to cup his jaw. Sam's fever was raging out of control but at the same time he was shivering violently, the bandage crossing his otherwise bare chest was drenched in perspiration. Dean turned to Jamie. "Can you do me another favour and go grab some water? I need to get some fluids into him."

Sam whimpered loudly and tried to flinch away when Dean raised the bandages and gauze to examine the knife wound.

"Easy Sammy." Dean bit his lip to keep his reaction quiet. The puncture wound was red and inflamed with traces of pus leaking through the sutures, and angry looking red lines snaked outwards from the epicentre. Blood poisoning. No wonder Sam's glucose levels were out of control. Dean reached out to the nightstand and grabbed the insulin pack. As he was administering another dose Jamie returned with a large bottle of water. Dean gently cradled Sam's head with one hand whilst pouring some of the cool liquid into his mouth. Sam didn't even fight him, instead gulping it eagerly like a man lost in a desert, some of spilling over and running down his chin. Small grunts, gasps and groans continued to fill the quiet of the room, a weird musical accompaniment to the ailing younger brother.

Spotting the bowl of water next to the bed with a wash cloth floating round in it, Dean glanced up at Jamie gratefully. The kid had been trying to keep Sam cool but at this stage it wasn't going to be enough; he pulled out his cell phone and hit speed dial for the second time that night.

As he waited for Adrian to pick up – _it was the early hours after all – _Dean heard a soft, pained and broken whisper.

"_D...Dean?"_

Still keeping his cell firm tucked firmly to his ear, Dean reached out his other hand and grasped his brother's. Smiling into confused blue-green eyes, over-bright with fever, he _almost_ sobbed out loud. Instead he blinked back the threatening tears and put on his best ever Game Face yet.

"I'm here Sammy. You're gonna be ok."

"_Where's...D- Dad?"_

"He's not here right now kiddo. It's just you and me." Dean tripped over that one as lightly as he could, but inside his heart was pounding painfully. Adrian chose that moment to answer the call just as Sam's eyes slid shut again, apparently weary from the brief exchange.

The phone call didn't last long. Sam's doctor had been insistent on coming out to them, fearing for Sam's life if he should be moved without proper medical assistance, but Dean soon explained their predicament without going into too much detail and Adrian agreed to meet them on the outskirts of town.

Jamie had been hovering, not really sure what was expected of him. He shifted from foot to foot nervously as Dean moved round the room packing duffle bags, dismantling weapons and checking that they hadn't left anything behind.

"Uh..." Jamie finally spoke up when Dean began to wipe down surfaces and door handles, as though...as though... "Is there something I should know?"

Dean turned round to stare at him. "Yeah. Start lookin' for another job." The noise of fire trucks screaming by seemed to emphasize his point, and Jamie's eyes widened.

"You didn't..."

"I left Maria's body outside the local ER." Dean added quietly, refusing to go into any further detail. "Make sure she gets a decent funeral if nothing else."

As another silence stretched out and Sam started fretting, Jamie spoke up again. "You guys should get going. I can finish up here."

Dean thought for a moment, wondering if the kid knew what he was getting into. "You sure 'bout this? I can't risk any trace of us being left behind, no blood, no fingerprints, nothin'."

"Hey! I worked for Frankie as his bar manager the last four years; I think I can handle it." He shrugged and shuffled his feet again, clearly burning to ask another question. "Do I wanna know what happened to him tonight? Frankie, I mean."

Dean smirked humourlessly. "Least you hear from me the better. In any case, the whole town will find out soon enough."

Jamie nodded. "You wanna hand getting your brother to the car?" At Dean's nod, the two of them gently leaned down.

"On three, ready?" Dean had threaded an arm under Sam's back, pulling him into a sitting position, his brother's whimpers of pain cutting him deep. "One...Two...THREE!"

Between Dean and Jamie Sam was forced to his feet, whereupon his knees gave out and he slumped in their grip, moaning softly.

"Come on little bro. Help us out here." Dean muttered in Sam's ear as he pulled him out of the motel room. "Jamie? Open the car doors. Let's get him on the back seat." He held Sam up whilst the former bar manager complied before helping Dean to get his brother settled. Sam was soon swaddled in blankets with Dean's leather jacket placed under his head as a pillow. With a final stroke of Sam's hair a few whispered words of reassurance, Dean stepped back and closed the rear passenger door.

It wasn't often Dean found himself needing to thank a civilian for their help and he found it more than a little awkward. "Uh...thanks. For looking after Sam and..." he leaned against the car. "What'll you tell them?"

Jamie smiled sadly. He knew who Dean was referring to. "I'm a..._was_ a bar manager. I'll think of something." Gently tapping the roof of the Impala he nodded one last time. "You'd better get going before the cops start sniffin' round."

And that was Dean's last image of him in the review mirror. The young barman, who'd been intimidated and bullied along with the rest of his community, was leaning heavily against the doorframe of the motel room watching them leave. Jamie had felt compelled to stand up for himself and his friend tonight, and paid a heavy price for it. He'd lost his job, Maria was dead, and he'd been badly beaten.

_Yeah. Not too much incentive for doing the right thing!_ And Dean instantly rejected that thought as bullshit. The town was free from Frankie's cruel and ruthless tyranny, and maybe the people could pick themselves up and gradually learn to put things right.

In the meantime, Dean still had his own battles to fight. One very sick and injured little brother for a start, and Dean was fairly convinced Sam wasn't going to make it easy on him.

Hearing Sam's small fevered cries of pain and anguish Dean, keeping his eyes on the road ahead, reached over with the seat, gently grasping the back of Sam's neck. He winced at the heat.

"Easy kiddo. Doc Johnson's waiting for us and he's gonna get you all fixed up." He sighed a little. "Things will get better Sam. Just give it time."

He sped off towards their next and most vital destination, foot perched firmly over the throttle, breaking all known speed limits and not caring in the slightest.

Not while his little brother's soft whimpers and gasps reached his ears.

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_**Author's notes:**_

**This was rather a weird chapter to write and it took me weeks to eventually finish it, so I hope you all enjoyed it.**

**Many thanks for all your kind reviews so far.**

**Until the next time..,**

**Kind regards,**

**ST.xxx.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Sugar Me Sweet Chapter 13**

"Not now Sam, come on kid. Breathe slowly!" Dean called anxiously as Sam began to hyperventilate. He could feel Sam's racing pulse, the heat radiating from his body and knew things didn't bode well for his brother.

The kid had stopped crying out a while ago, and the only indication he was still alive were the shivers and the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Dean wanted to close his ears even to that but he didn't dare, and as Sam continued gasping for air he finally made a difficult decision.

Pulling over to the side of the road, he leapt out from behind the wheel and wrenched open the rear passenger door. Not stopping to check Sam's glucose levels, partly because he already had an idea what the damage would be and mostly because he was scared enough as it was, he grabbed up Sam's emergency diabetes pack and ripped it open. Pulling out a syringe and small phial he tried to steady his shaking hand as he drew up a large measure of insulin. Dean paused to swab the crook of Sam's arm with an alcohol wipe – _'cos really, I think the poor kid's got enough problems!_ – then gently slid the needle in. Normally Sam didn't require the injections to a vein; it was quite acceptable for an intramuscular dose, but Dean wasn't taking any chances. The treatment had to get where it was needed and get there fast. He depressed the plunger just as Sam's struggles to breathe became more frantic, body straining and wheezing with each breath.

"Hold on Sammy. We're not far out." Dean took a second to turn back the gauze on Sam's shoulder and take a look at the knife wound. _Shit_. If anything it looked worse than before. Schooling his features into something approximating a smile, Dean stared down at Sam's sweat drenched face, noting the furrowed brow and the pinched skin around the eyes that spoke of pain. And lots of it. "Nearly there little brother. Not long now."

Dean took to the road again with greater urgency. The stress placed on Sam's metabolism by the sepsis meant that the effects of the insulin would soon peak and drop as his body fought the infection, and then his glucose levels would be on the increase once again. Dean found it bitterly ironic that the damage now being caused to Sam's body was actually due to his own immune response rather than the infection itself. That was probably one of the most complicated parts of his research into his brother's condition, with all its abbreviations, immunoglobulins, white cells, acute phase reactions... he still didn't really get it, but understood how self-destructive the human body could be when under threat.

_Immunology sucked!_

But he couldn't afford to think of that now; he had to get Sam to his doctor. It was his little brother's only chance.

The motel sign, with its tacky neon bulbs covered in dust and dead insects had never looked so welcoming when it came into view a few minutes later.

Adrian Johnson poked his head out of the motel room door, alerted by the familiar rumble of the Impala. Before the car had even swept to a stop he was out, racing over and yanking open the passenger door. "Dean." He nodded to the older brother but wasted no more time with pleasantries.

"Hey Sam. Long time no see huh buddy?" Adrian smiled down at his patient as he gently checked the wound. Sam's eyes cracked opened to stare at the medic with little recognition, but slid closed again a second later.

Dean watched the doctor's face carefully. He knew better than to start with the anxious questions and just stood back, letting the doctor do his job, and apart from the odd twitch around the eyes, Dean wouldn't have guessed anything was seriously wrong. Heart in his mouth, he silently obeyed when asked to help carry Sam to the motel room.

As soon as his brother was settled the questions soon began, but it wasn't Dean doing the asking.

"Last dose?"

"Few minutes before we arrived. I had to pull over when he started in Kausmaul."

"How long's he been tachycardic?"

"It started when the fever progressed and it's been getting worse."

"Last temperature reading?"

"104.3"

All the while the doctor checked Sam's vitals he carried on conversing with the older brother. Sam opened his eyes once again, bloodshot and weary as he glanced frantically from the apparent stranger to his brother. Dean reached out and gently stroked Sam's damp scalp, calming his fears.

"Easy kiddo. It's just Adrian, your diabetic consultant? We're both gonna look after you."

Sam blinked rapidly, trying to stay awake, but Dean must have convinced him he was safe because he soon slipped back under.

Adrian nodded. "Could I talk to you outside for a moment?" He jerked his head in the direction of the door.

"Sure."

As soon as the door closed Dean frowned and turned to face him.

Adrian didn't beat about the bush. "I know you're not gonna like hearing this Dean, but Sam needs to be in an intensive care unit. There's not a lot I can do for him here. He's on the verge of septic shock, and he needs emergency treatment before he goes into multiple organ failure. And believe me when I say there's no easy way back from that."

Dean's eyes widened as yet another burden of worry heaped a hefty dose of adrenaline into his bloodstream. "I knew it was bad, but…" He stopped, closed his eyes briefly and nodded sharply. "Ok. Let's go."

Adrian grinned. "He aint gonna like it."

"He aint gotta choice in the matter," Dean growled in response, face set into a stubborn scowl.

_Damnit kid!_ He thought angrily. _Why couldn't you have just punched me instead of running off like that? You took a rain check after that crap with Lenore; perfect opportunity, but oohh no, you had to go play Captain Drama. And __**now**__ look at you..._

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__

"Dean?" Sam whispered breathlessly just as the two men came back into the room. "What's goin' on?"

He looked and sounded so scared Dean didn't have the heart to bawl him out and his anger soon died. Adrian turned away, cell phone tucked into his neck as he waited for the emergency services to answer. Dean knelt down beside Sam's bed, half listening to the doc.

"Hey little bro. Just relax, everything's gonna be fine." He placed the palm of his hand against his little brother's forehead and tried not to wince. The fever was clearly getting worse as Sam became more and more distressed. The only thing Dean could do for him was to keep repeating the same litany over again. "Adrian's here and we gonna take care of you until the ambulance arrives."

Sam's eyes had been glassy and sluggish up to this point, but now they shot open in panic. "No! No hospital! Please Dean, don't…can't go there. People die there…Dad died there….you...nearly..._Please don't make me go…_"

Dean felt his heart shatter into small painful fragments. "You're not gonna die there Sammy, I swear. I won't let you." He tried not to let his face scrunch up when tears threatened once again.

Sam whimpered and shook his head, wincing at the pain his shoulder. "No. I-I-I sh-_should_ die. I'm supposed to die. Dad s-said…right? _He said, he said…_" he broke off panting with exertion and moaning softly in pain.

"No! Sam that's not what he said." Dean reached out with both hands to frame Sam's face, whispering to him softly, trying to keep him calm. "You're going there to get better and I'll be with you all the way. You're real sick right now and you need help."

"Pr…promise?" Tears leaked from the corners of Sam's eyes and his body trembled harshly.

"I promise. And you know I always keep my promises." Dean stared into his brother's eyes, hoping he'd finally got the message through.

Before anymore could be said sirens sounded nearby and the room was flooded with flashing red.

"There ya go Sammy. Helps here." Dean smiled and gently stroked Sam's hair, watching his dazed, frightened eyes as they darted round the room. "They were fast huh?"

Adrian opened the door to the EMTs and it immediately became apparent that they knew him.

"Dr Johnson." The older one nodded and smiled in greeting. "Back so soon?"

The doctor's returning smile was tight but not unfriendly. "Yep, just couldn't stay away from the place." He gestured to the patient, "My youngest son, Sam, was involved in a bar fight and got himself stabbed in the shoulder. Looks like severe sepsis, but it's been complicated by his diabetes."

Dean kept the shock from his face as best he could, especially when he was introduced as Adrian's _oldest_ son. When he turned a questioning gaze on the doctor, Adrian just winked and mouthed _explain later._

Dean kept a firm hold on Sam's hand whilst the paramedics worked, questions and answers flying back and forth. IVs were set up, pain relief and broad spectrum antibiotics administered directly into Sam's bloodstream, along with a host of other drugs Dean had never heard of. They were so quick and urgent in their actions that he felt his fear edge up again.

"It's what we call SIRS, or systemic inflammatory response syndrome," Adrian could see unspoken questions arising from the older Winchester and knew he'd appreciate the answers. "He's suffering from hypotension, or low blood pressure. If fluid replacement is insufficient to stabilise his blood pressure then we can resort to using specific vasopressor drugs."

"Wait!" Dean looked worried and indicated the IV port and the injections. "Doesn't he have enough crap in his system as it is?"

One of the EMTs looked up from fastening an oxygen mask over Sam's face and grimaced in sympathy.

"Yeah, and it won't stop there I'm afraid," replied the doctor with genuine regret. "He may need artificial ventilation and dialysis to support him through lung and kidney dysfunction. Sepsis sufferers are also particularly vulnerable to deep vein thrombosis, so preventative measures may well be needed, and on top of that he runs a risk of developing stress and pressures ulcers, which are not only painful but also increase the risk of further infection. It's not something he can afford. As a diabetic, Sam's at greater risk for multiple organ failure and death, so any chance we can give him..." He inwardly winced. _That_ part was a bit blunt, but necessary.

Dean looked anguished and the shadows round his eyes appeared to deepen. "How the hell did it get to this stage? I don't understand it!" His voice shook with anger and fear; he ran a trembling hand through his short hair and tried to blink another pool of moisture from his eyes.

There was a lot more to it than that, but the doctor didn't think now was the time. Dean was going into shock; Adrian caught him when he swayed, his face losing all colour. Guiding him down to the grimy carpet the doctor pushed Dean's head between his knees, ordering him to breathe slow and gently.

"Take it easy. You won't do Sam any good if you pass out and that poor kid's gonna need you." Adrian took out a blood pressure cuff and rolled up Dean's sleeve. "When was the last time you slept?"

"Uh...not sure." Dean was too tired to fight him and just let the doctor do his job. He suddenly sat up straight and started fumbling in a pocket for his cell phone. "Shit. Gotta call Bobby..."

Dr Johnson gently stilled Dean's frantic movements. "I already called him son. He's on his way."

Dean nodded tiredly, grateful beyond belief. His gaze swept over his little brother when the EMTs declared Sam was ready to go. The kid was out of it, all consciousness lost to the heavy pain meds swimming round his system.

Still staring at Sam, Dean couldn't help but ask "This is bad, I mean _really_ bad." He finally looked at the doctor. "Aint it?"

Merely nodding and not knowing what else to say, Adrian helped Dean to his feet, relieved when the older brother didn't try to shrug him off. He wasn't sure if he could trust Dean to remain upright without assistance, and it was for this reason he bundled the kid into the ambulance right after his brother. Dean was exhausted and stressed, and as the boys' doctor, _and father_, Adrian was now taking over.

Dean offered no protest which came as little surprise. The very idea of Dean being separated from his kid brother for the length of time it took to get to the ER was laughable. Normally there wouldn't have been enough room in the ambulance for all of them, but one of the EMTs graciously gave up his rightful place in the back for Adrian, and went to sit beside his colleague in the front. Sam didn't stir as Dean and Adrian watched him closely. His breathing had eased a little, though a muffled rasped wheezing could still be heard through the oxygen mask.

Dean couldn't help but feel like shit about all this. Perhaps he should've kept his promise to his father and not told Sam, then none of this would've happened and Sam wouldn't be lying there, badly injured and seriously ill.

_Look out for Sammy..._

_He told me that I had to save you, and if I couldn't save you I'd have to kill you..._

The hurt and anger in Sam's eyes had pained Dean greatly, and with every moment that had passed since, he wanted to grab back the words and throw them out the window. Sam shouldn't have needed to hear them, leastways not from Dean. And there was no way on God's green earth that he'd ever carry out that request; he'd always known he could never hurt Sammy. In Dean's eyes there was no question about it.

As he gazed at his sick little brother, lying helpless and vulnerable on the gurney, another terrible thought struck him. Should he tell Sam about Maria? Surely not telling him would be an insult to the woman who had helped save Sam's life? He would want to know, had a _right_ to know. But Dean knew what it would lead to; another weight on Sam's already over-burdened guilt complex.

Dean sighed quietly. He needed to have a good long think about all this, but right now Sam's life was in the balance. That was all he dared concentrate on.

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Nothing existed here, it was oblivion. He should have been frightened but he felt at peace and didn't want to go back. Just wanted to carry on sleeping in this cocoon of warm darkness.

A flash of memory and whispers of conversation startled him. Suddenly he didn't feel so safe or at peace. There was something here with him.

_Something_ was _wrong._

Twin yellow cat-like orbs suddenly flashed across his vision then squinted at him angrily, evil lurking in the flickering depths.

Sam, feeling vulnerable and unarmed, tried to run.

_You can't run from me. I'm always here...I've __**always**__ been here_

"_No! Stay away from me!" _Sam's voice hit the empty void and bounced back at him.

_I've got plans for you Sammy, and all the other children like you..._

"_Leave me alone!"_

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"What the hell's goin' on?" Dean yelled out in despair. A terrible high pitched whine suddenly echoed round the ambulance.

Adrian was already reaching for the paddles.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_You can't hide from me. I will find you. Your brother can't protect you from your destiny._

Sam carried on running into the darkness. Talking was a waste of time because no one was really listening.

_...Sam..._

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Come on Sam, don't do this..." Dr Johnson growled, and charged the paddles again. The ambulance was pulled over to the grass verge and the EMT was back, assisting Adrian with resus.

Dean hovered nearby, trying not to get in the way; his mind was on a frozen ledge, but his heart was breaking.

_Sammy please...You're all I've got._

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_.__..Sammmmmmy..._

He slowed and stopped. _This _voice was different, familiar, and coming from right ahead. Tilting his head to one side, he squinted into the black.

"_What do you want from me? Why can't you just leave us alone!"_

_...not me that wants this...you have to go back...fight this...choose your __**own **__destiny...Dean needs you...he'll __**help **__you..._

_Sammy go back..._

Sam's jaw dropped as it finally dawned on him.

He whispered brokenly. _"Mom?"_

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"Charge..."

"Clear..."

_Come on Sammy please!_ Dean watched with horror as Sam's body bucked violently under the voltage. They'd been trying for five minutes now but the cardiac monitor still squealed insanely. Adrian continued with an air of confidence that Dean just couldn't match.

Another pause and..._thump_...went the paddles one more time.

_Pleasepleaseplease Sammy come back!_

"Charge..."

"Clear..."

_Thump!_

The blood was roaring so loudly in Dean's ears that at first he didn't hear the cardiac monitor change its tune, but a steady _beep... beep... beep..._ gradually filtered through his panic, and he stared at his brother. Sam looked terrible, pale and gaunt, sweat still pouring from him, but if the EMTs whoop of excitement meant anything then he was at least alive.

Dr Johnson smiled a little over at Dean and nodded. "That was close but I think we can stabilise him, and we're not far from the ER." The smile faded as he gestured to the ET tube and holder wedged in his brother's mouth. "He's developed respiratory dysfunction so that's gonna have to stay in for now, but I'm hoping that if we treat him in time his kidneys won't suffer too much."

"Uh..." Dean stared down at his shaky hands. "Thanks doc." He swallowed audibly before raising his head again. "He's not gonna make it, is he?"

Adrian dropped down on the bench next to the distraught Winchester and clasped his hands between his knees, watching the EMT go through the usual checks. "I aint gonna lie to ya. It's touch and go, sure. Your brother's condition is precarious at best. _But_," he turned to face Dean. "He's strong and he has a fighting chance; that's gotta be better than nothing. Just need a little faith Dean."

Dean said nothing to that. Faith had always been an issue for him, but now he was being asked to have faith in something right in front of him. His brother's life.

_I can't fail him, not again._

For safety's sake Dean agreed to move up to the front seat of the ambulance so the EMT could remain with the patient and assist Adrian. But he didn't like it, and kept on glancing back, wishing he'd never brought Sam to that town, wishing he hadn't told him, wishing that _wishing_ wasn't just a _big godamned waste of time_

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Bobby paced outside the ER, occasionally glancing at his watch. He couldn't have been more anxious if he actually _was_ the boys' father. When Adrian called him Bobby hadn't wasted a second before leaping into his old truck and wheel spinning out of the yard. He'd driven at breakneck speed through the night, the old engine roaring in protest as it was pushed through hair-pin chicanes and screaming on the straights.

On arrival, it was pretty much a tossup as to which of them was the most exhausted: Bobby or the truck. But whilst the truck sighed and hissed angrily at the ill treatment, Bobby was out and striding towards the hospital entrance, somewhat panicked when he found the ambulance hadn't even turned up.

"Shoulda been here ages ago." He muttered, once again glaring at his wrist watch. "Where in hell are they?"

After resuming his tenth bout of pacing, Bobby's head shot round when the gradual sound of sirens screamed out and an ambulance came to a screeching halt beside him. The rear doors were flung open at the same time that an exhausted and very scared looking Dean appeared from the front.

"How bad?" Bobby stared into Dean's eyes, daring him to lie.

"Pretty bad." Dean whispered, apparently in no more of a mood for tough guy talk than his dad's old friend. "He's in septic shock, Bobby. He crawled into a filthy dumpster to avoid getting caught because I wasn't there to watch his back, and now he's paying for it. Big time."

Bobby narrowed his eyes angrily. "Stop that right now! Maybe when ya daddy was alive he woulda bawled you out, godamned self-righteous sonofbitch that he was, but that don't make it your fault." He rounded on Dean "Sam's an adult and responsible for his own choices."

"No, you don't understand." Dean answered desperately, shifting from foot to foot, something that was usually one of Sam's personal traits. "He was _running_. From me, from what I told him...about Dad..." His voice trailed off as Sam was wheeled into the ER, and he took off after him, leaving a perplexed Bobby Singer in his wake.

Dean was briefly halted by a large charge nurse.

"Sorry sir but you can't go back there..."

"It's ok. He's my son, as is the patient. Let him through." Dr Johnson's voice came from behind the swinging double doors, and his tone brooked no argument. "_And_ the scruffy bastard in the ballcap."

Bobby grumbled to himself good naturedly as he shuffled through after Dean. "Sure hope he aint implyin' _I'm _his son. Cocky little shit!"

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The strange sounds seeped into Sam's mind. It was a whirring and clicking, and he had no idea what it meant. He couldn't lift his eyelids, couldn't move a muscle. But it didn't matter because he knew he was back. Just for a while.

Not only that, but Dean was here with him. Sam wanted to reach out and touch him, but he was completely immobilised. Not that he needed to; his big brother already had his hand in a tight grip.

The familiar obstruction in his throat, however, told him just how serious this was.

"Sammy..."_Dean_ grasped his hand. Kept him grounded, let him know he wasn't alone. "I'm here little bro. Keep holding on."

Sleepy, but Sam was happier than he'd felt in a long time. He truly _felt safe._

But there was _still_ that evil in the dark, and Sam wasn't sure it would let him go,

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Hours had passed as Sam underwent various preventive treatments, and it proved one hell of a battle. His condition deteriorated fast, and all Dean and Bobby could do was watch on in despair.

Adrian had popped in from time to time and eventually had to answer to a few questions. Like, why he registered Sam and Dean as his sons.

"Let's just say that Harry once told me a few things about you guys and leave it at that, ok?"

And they did, because no one really liked talking about Harry Carpenter these days, not after what happened. It was out of respect. You just didn't dwell on someone so brave and ordinary who also lost her life protecting Deans little brother through something so twisted.

She was remembered in other ways because the woman had been a caring professional, and a damn good friend. Not a drama queen.

The hours moved on.

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"On call Biochemist."

"Annette? It's me, AJ."

"Hey, what you still doin' here? Seminar's over hon. Aint ya on your way back to Hicksville by now?"

Adrian sighed, his lips twitching in amusement. "Long story. You have those blood results on my son? Sam Johnson?"

"Just give us a sec to call 'em up. They should be just about ready in fact".

Adrian could hear the tap tap tapping on a keyboard followed by a suddenly silence and a sharp intake of breath.

"Annette?"

"Oh boy...AJ you if hadn't called me first..."

"That bad huh?"

"His renal function is, to put it frankly, a disaster. You want to call in the consultant?"

Adrian sighed in frustration as the laboratory scientist read out the blood results. "Already in hand. Thanks Annette."

"Not a problem. Great seminar by the way, really helped clear a few things up and I hope you'll come back a see us all again soon."

"Me too."

_Shit_.

The kid's urea and creatinine levels were on the rise, and now his potassium was spiking. Not a good sign and certainly hard on the heart. Dr Johnson made arrangements to have Sam placed on dialysis as soon as possible, then went on to speak with the on call pharmacist about further treatment, namely keeping tight control of Sam's blood glucose levels with insulin, corticosteroids or recombinant protein C.

They were all in for a long roller coaster ride.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Long was right. Sam remained unresponsive and Dean kept watch over him, refusing to leave even though Bobby bugged him constantly about the need for exercise and fresh air. The ward sister gave up trying to enforce visitation times and eventually, succumbing to a gradually growing fondness for the big brother protective attitude, sneaked out to one of the pre-operative wards and stole a reclining chair. This blatant act of medical piracy didn't go unnoticed however, and several furious internal emails were sent out by the victimised ward. The sister, of course, denied all knowledge and hid the chair under a stubborn Winchester and several layers of blankets.

Dean was more than grateful and promised to take the senior nurse out to dinner one evening. To which he was rewarded by an affectionate thump alongside the ear, a smothered _flattered_ smile, and an 'I'm old enough to be your mother.' Which was a direct challenge as far as Dean was concerned; sure she was in her late forties, but Sister Darling, as he came to name her, was still a real hottie and more than deserved a little of the Dean Winchester charm. Just a glimpse of those long well toned legs, soft blue eyes framed by chestnut hair had him shifting a little in his seat. A woman who took that amount of pride and care with herself earned a vote or two from Dean. And he told his unconscious sibling as much...

"Sam, you have _seriously _gotta wake up kiddo. You have no idea what you're missing out on." Dean smiled sadly as he ran a hand through Sam's damp hair. The fever was starting to abate, but slowly, so slowly in fact that it was sorely trying Dean's patience. He was half tempted to go storming back to that shit hole of a town just to salt and burn the dumpster he'd found his badly wounded baby brother hiding out in.

"I guess not just yet huh?" Dean whispered, tugging one of Sam's hands into his and squeezing reassuringly. "When you're ready kiddo."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

That cocoon was back, embracing him, holding him safe. He'd never felt such peace, even though _something_ was trying to break through, buffeting the invisible walls. He wasn't sure how long the protective boundary would hold, but maybe for long enough.

Sam desperately wanted to go home now, and he could feel the darkness gradually lifting.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Hey doc, what's this one for? Looks pretty uncomfortable." Dean pointed out one of the other tubes that baffled him. As usual the older brother was looking for ways to keep calm, and he'd learned that by asking questions and gaining an understanding for what was going on around him was one such way. In fact over the months since Sam's diagnosis of diabetes, Dean was finally coming to understand his baby brother's strange ways, even developing a healthy respect for them. He even briefly wondered how his Dad might have reacted to all this.

Adrian glanced up from Sam's charts. "That's an enteral feed tube. It's often used on patients with prolonged illness to provide adequate nutrition. It's called total parenteral nutrition, or TPN."

Dean nodded, his jaw tight. "So that's what this is gonna be for Sam? A prolonged illness?" The almost accusatory tone gave the doctor pause for thought.

"Not necessarily." Dr Johnson replaced the chart at the foot of Sam's bed. "It's just a precaution Dean; he's lost a lot of weight since I last saw him. I just want to keep up that fighting chance we talked about. Ok?"

"Yeah." Dean breathed out. He clearly wasn't.

Bobby arrived back from the coffee dispenser in time to hear the good news. Adrian sat opposite the older brother and watched him with some concern.

"Sam's doing a lot better though," he offered quietly. "The dialysis has taken a load off and he's definitely improving. In fact I'd say, and I'm going out on a limb here, that Sam's gonna beat this. He just needs time."

Dean and Bobby both managed to convey just by a look that time was the thing preying most on their minds.

"Look, I'm not gonna up and abandon you guys. I'm here as long as your brother needs me so quit worrying." Adrian gave a little laugh. "In fact I've been roped into conducting another diabetes seminar for the junior doctors whilst I'm here and that's gonna take up some time."

Dean smiled at him gratefully, but Bobby tried to put it into words.

"Can't tell ya...how..."

Adrian raised a hand. "No need." And _that_ was the end of the conversation.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean sat in the chair by Sam's bed for an eternity after the vent was removed. A light squeeze on his hand drew his attention and he couldn't help but smile. Sam's face was still pale under the oxygen mask, but there was something about it now...something _alive._

"Sammy I'm here, you're here, we're _all _here. You can wake up now Sam, you're safe. _Please_, just wake up for me..."

Dean was expecting a slow, gentle return to consciousness, so he was in no way prepared when Sam's eyes suddenly snapped open. Dean reacted in the only way he knew how; he fell out of his chair.

"Dean?"

A low muffled groan from somewhere near floor level reached Sam's ears, and he struggled to a sitting position, wincing in pain. Wrenching off the mask, Sam's concerned gaze searched the room.

"Dean? You ok?"

"I'm just fucking peachy dude." Came the sarcastic growl that never failed to bring a smile to Sam's face.

A frantic scrabbling noise, then one hand reached up and grasped Sam's bed covers, followed closely by the other. Green eyes suddenly appeared, glaring at Sam furiously over the mattress.

"At least warn a guy when you do that huh? Nearly gave me a godamned heart attack!"

In spite of the pain it caused him, Sam couldn't help but chuckle breathlessly. "Sorry bro. Wasn't expecting it either."

The brothers stared at each other for a long moment, both in humour loaded with relief and anguish. Then Dean was regaining his feet, perching on the edge of Sam's bed and pushing his brother gently back into the pillows. After replacing the oxygen mask over Sam's face, he sighed heavily, fear showing through all the big brother bravado. He knew this wasn't really the time, but he couldn't help himself.

He gripped the front of Sam's hospital tee shirt. "Don't you _ever_ do that again, Sam. You talk to me next time before taking off like that, ok?"

Sam opened his mouth but never got the chance to answer and somehow he figured he wasn't expected to.

"You scared the shit outta me, then I had to find you bleeding to death in a _dumpster_ of all places, your glucose levels hit the _fuckin' roof_, the _knife_ wound became infected..." Dean finally stopped ranting, but Sam wasn't sure that was a good thing, because his brother slowly stood, shoulders bent under an invisible weight. "I just can't keep doing this anymore Sam...I really just..." Dean shook his head wearily. "I gotta go get some fresh air."

And with that, he walked out.

Sam's ashamed gaze hit the floor not long after his heart.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Author's notes:**_

**This chapter has gone on for long enough, but at least I didn't leave it with a major cliff-hanger, just an angsty one. And I'm sure none of us blame Dean in the slightest for needing a breather. He loves his little brother so much that he's still hurting.**

**As you all know, the usual disclaimers apply here with regards to the medical stuff.**

**Hope you enjoyed it and many thanks to all reviewers of the last chapter.**

**A special thanks goes out to Saira and Anne, supportive anonymous reviewers of InThe Arms Of Love. Please, please **_**please **_**get an account because I would love to thank you both personally. Unfortunately, due to certain professional and personal issues I cannot answer to direct emails.**

**Kind regards,**

**ST.xxx.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Sugar Me Sweet Chapter 14**

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"That's it folks. Let's get the poor kid back down to the morgue. The cops and CPS are already going crazy for the autopsy report, but I gotta tell ya. The way that child's parents looked at her before she died…" the young doctor shook his head. "I think it's more than obvious whose responsible here."

The nurse standing next to him nodded in agreement but said nothing. The bruises on the little girl's body were evidence enough, and her parents were being mysteriously quiet about the whole thing.

_Fell down the stairs, my ass!_

Of course, they would get away with it. The father was an influential businessman with some very powerful contacts, particularly in the high court. These people would never see the inside of a cell.

The very thought of them being allowed to go free without so much as making a statement made Dr Taylor feel sick to his stomach. But there it was. There was no evidence to connect the parents to the death of their own child, and any that _might _have existed had been _removed._

The kid's parents had presented a good front of shock and remorse, but James had seen the cold _relief_ in their eyes when he informed them of her death. Their secret was safe.

James Taylor blinked back tears of exhaustion and tried to get on with his job.

There had been a rash of deaths lately in and around the intensive care unit where the girl passed away from her injuries, but that was the way it sometimes went. Several shifts could pass by uneventful, and then the shit hit the fan all at once on the next. And given that the ICU in this hospital was rather larger than the average medical facility, it was to be expected.

The doctor ripped off his surgical gloves, dumped them in the clinical waste bin and set out to hunt down some coffee. Sometimes his job really got to him, but being the house officer on call for the morgue, on top of his other duties was essential if he wanted the experience to go after a research fellowship. He could only guess the reason he'd been assigned to the autopsy of the little girl. He wasn't even allowed to know her last name for fuck sake!

The young doctor sighed gratefully when he reached the staff canteen and found the pot full of fresh, hot coffee.

"Nasty one huh?" Came a sympathetic voice from behind him and he turned, smiling sadly.

"Yeah, kids ya know? Always gets to me."

Dr Johnson nodded. "You'll get use to it son. You have to if ya gonna survive this profession." Sipping his coffee he smiled and attempted to change the subject. He knew all too well what had happened here. "So James, how's that application for the fellowship going?"

They spent some time discussing the pros and cons of the project, including the biggest problem of all: the departmental budget. James and Adrian laughed as they fully agreed that hospital accountants had no clue how to run a health service and were better off going back to whatever bank they'd been kicked out of.

Eventually the topic of conversation swung around to Sam.

"I hear your son woke up earlier today. That's great news." James topped up his coffee but replaced the pot when Adrian indicated he'd had enough.

"Yeah." Dr Johnson frowned a little. "His fever's still spiking though; that's why he's still in the ICU. Can't risk him taking a turn for the worse, not with the poor control he's had over his diabetes of late."

"So long as he takes it easy he should be fine right?" James queried.

Adrian smirked a little humourlessly. "That's part of the problem. Both my sons are rather…_active_, shall we say. And Sam's as stubborn as his older brother."

James let out a little laugh. "You could always put him in restraints or sedate him, though I wouldn't wanna be in your shoes when he finds out."

There was more laughter as the two men settled into the comfortable chairs.

"What's on your mind, son?" Adrian could tell something was troubling the younger doctor. He hadn't known him long but liked the kid, even thought about inviting him to work at his clinic once his residency was up. The research project was a diabetes review so he'd be perfectly placed to carry out his work. And besides, the clinic was getting busier and Adrian hadn't yet replaced Harry. Not that she could _ever_ be replaced.

James scratched his head worriedly. "Uh…I'm not sure it's even worth mentioning…"

"Try me. Can't hurt, right?"

"You know we've had a lot of deaths on the ICU of late, since that girl's death in fact. I was just wondering if anyone had noticed that the victims were all either depressed to a lesser or greater extent, or mentally disturbed?"

Adrian sat up straight. "I wasn't made aware of that."

"I'm mean some of them weren't actually _diagnosed_ as clinically depressed, but there was usually something going on in their lives that was causing them considerable distress." James continued in earnest now that he had Adrian's full attention. "They just started dying and we couldn't stop them, no matter what we did. It was almost as though they just…_gave up._" He glanced at the older doctor sheepishly. "Does that make sense?"

"Well, yeah it does. If they felt they had little reason for living then, yes they would give up. It's quite possible for a seriously ill patient to will themselves to die." And Adrian really believed that. But he got the feeling this went deeper, and the younger doctor felt it too. He tried to reassure him anyway, making a mental note to speak with Dean and Bobby at some point when he got the chance. He had the idea this would interest them. "Maybe it was just their time to go, James. It's better to accept it now, so you can move on."

James offered up that sad smile again. "Yeah. You're right, I'm just seeing things that aren't really there."

Adrian laughed at that. "Happens to us all son, especially after a long shift."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean hadn't smoked in years, but right now? If someone were to offer him a cigarette he would have had a hard time saying no. Drawing in a deep, calming breath he slouched over to the Impala, slid behind the wheel and shut the door on the world. He was just so _tired_. He hated himself for leaving Sam alone in his hospital bed like that, especially now he'd unintentionally sent his little brother on another guilt trip, but he needed some time to think.

Setting his jaw he turned the key in the ignition and listened to the sweet roar as the engine came to life. He had plenty to keep him occupied as his mind ticked away; check out of the motel and sign into a closer one, get something substantial to eat that didn't involve limp, over boiled, colourless vegetables, and steak he could have re-soled his boots with. Dean winced a little guiltily; something else he'd left his kid brother to face alone: hospital food.

He shrugged. At least Sam was safe and on the mend, and Dean could relax for a while. In fact, right after he'd eaten he planned to head for a bar out of town and shoot some pool. The Winchester's were running out of funds and Dean wanted to find someplace clean to bring Sam home to once he was released, a kind of recuperation stint somewhere pleasant for once. Somewhere they could talk, and Sam would feel safe.

And that was going to take money.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

__

Sam stared at the floor a while longer after his brother left. He felt as though all control was slipping out of his grasp and there was nothing he could do; it was a familiar sensation, one he'd felt when he first found out he was diabetic.

Dean was angry, no _furious_ with him, and Sam couldn't help but sympathise. He'd screwed up royally in that last town and frightened the living daylights out of his brother. There was no excuse for his behaviour.

Sam sniffed miserably, itching to take off the oxygen mask. He still felt flushed and over-heated and his shoulder was beginning to sting again as the pain meds wore off, though he wouldn't reach for the call button this time. Sam felt he deserved a little pain given what he'd put Dean, Bobby _and _his doctor through.

Shifting his right arm a little he grimaced in pain; it was strapped tightly across his upper body and though the sling was a nuisance, it wasn't overly-uncomfortable.

His other arm sported a nest of IVs. Antibiotics, corticosteroids, timed insulin, and god knew what else was being pumped into his body to keep him stable.

Just as he let his head fall back against the pillow he noticed that the room temperature had dropped a little. Sam frowned. He thought the ICU rooms were kept under tight temperature regulation and wondered if his fever was worse than he thought.

This time he _did _reach for the call button when a wave of dizziness assaulted him. Sam tried to swallow back bile but his throat was sore and tight.

"Hello. What's your name? My name's Katie."

Sam dropped the call button and blinked wearily over at the little girl standing in the doorway. Pretty bright blue eyes stared back at him and he smiled. She couldn't have been older than six or seven and the friendly gleam in her eyes was captivating. Katie beamed back at him.

"I'm Sam," His smile turned sad. He suddenly knew what she was. "What are you still doing here Katie. Why haven't you moved on?"

Her own smile dropped to be replaced by a look of total and utter devastation. "I don't know how and I don't know where I am. I just want a friend, 'cos I'm so _lonely_." She was crying by now and Sam felt his heart break for the poor child. Katie rubbed at her eyes with small hands before lowering them and fixing Sam with a hopeful expression. "Will you be my friend? No one else wants to be my friend. Whenever I ask them they just leave me behind all on my own. You'll be my friend, right Sam?" She stepped further into the room and right up to his bed.

Sam stared at Katie worriedly, then removing his oxygen mask and keeping his voice gentle, he spoke to her. "Sure I can be your friend until you move on, but I can't come with you sweetheart. It's not my time yet."

Katie didn't seem worried by that. "I could make it your time if you want. I mean, you're feeling sad and alone right? If you were with me you _wouldn't _be sad and alone anymore, and neither would I." She beamed at him happily, satisfied by her own logic.

Sam realised he had to tread real carefully here. If he annoyed the spirit she might just decide to take him there and then. "I'm sure you could, Katie. But I have a big brother that will be real sad if I went with you. He'd miss me, as I would miss him. So you see I would still be sad." He smiled gently. "You understand?"

A frown marred her small face, and Sam realised with dismay that in spite of his tact, he'd managed to anger the spirit.

It was probably very lucky for him that Bobby Singer chose that moment to stride into the room, newspaper under his arm and coffee in hand. Lucky, that was, until Sam started to feel real sick again.

"Sam!" Bobby barked out, letting Sam know not for the first time that Dean wasn't the only one angry with him. "Put that mask back on! You _wanna_ piss off your brother anymore than you have done already?"

Sam ignored him as he watched the little girl mouth 'I'll be back' before fading away completely.

"Sam?"

"Bobby don't you see her?" Sam raised his left arm and winced as the movement tugged on the IV lines. "She was right there, in front of you!"

Bobby stared hard at Sam, noting with concern the sheen of perspiration on the boy's face and the unsteady hand. His breathing was also a little fast, as though he were on the verge of panicking.

_This aint good._

Snatching the call button from Sam's bed, Bobby hit it repeatedly.

"Sam you're still sick, so just relax ok? Everything's gonna be fine…"

But Sam was shaking his head furiously now. "No! She wanted me to join her. Her name was Katie. She said she was scared and lonely, and _she was standing right there!"_

Bobby didn't get a chance to answer. Sam's head suddenly snapped back into the pillows, and he started desperately gasping for air. The terrible sound grew louder as Bobby scrambled for the door, poked his head through and bellowed loudly.

"SOMEONE BETTER GET IN HERE RIGHT _**NOW!**_""

Bobby glanced back at the bed. Sam was blinking rapidly at the ceiling, faced pinched in pain as he struggled to breathe.

"Hold on Sam, help's comin'." But even as he watched, Sam was losing consciousness, his eyes rolling white in his head, lids fluttering at half mast. His face was a ghastly shade of grey, mouth gaping, lips turning blue, and his frantic movements were gradually stilling as he lost the fight. It was like watching someone being strangled by invisible hands, helpless to stop it, and Sam gave out one sudden final terrible choke as his body jerked violently. Then the room fell silent apart from the beeping of the gradually slowing heart monitor. Bobby stared open mouthed as the nurses pushed passed him, unable to believe what had just happened.

_Oh God, Sam no!_

He was pulled out of his panic when Adrian came storming into the room, shouting out orders, asking questions and generally taking charge. The doctor made quick work of forcing Sam to breathe again before his heart gave out, and once again the poor kid was intubated. Sam's chest suddenly rose and fell in a regular mechanical pattern, and Bobby fumbled for Dean's EMF meter. His eyebrows met in a deep frown with what he saw.

Bobby turned back briefly to reassure himself that Sam was still alive then left quickly, on a mission to call Dean back ASAP.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

The Dean Winchester Skill was out in full force tonight as he took his final shot and sunk the black, earning a round of applause from the other occupants of the bar for yet another hat trick. It was quite a friendly crowd that gathered round, slapping him on the back, and they had no worries about losing money to the charming stranger. Apparently entertainment was just as important as the beer in this place, and Dean reflected that it was a nice change to be in good company, especially after the last town.

He was about to hit on the cute barmaid when his cell phone rudely interrupted. Suppressing a groan Dean glanced at the caller ID.

"Bobby, Sam ok?"

The hesitation told Dean everything he needed to know, and he was already out the door and running to the car.

"_No he's not. Sam's taken a turn for the worst, but there's somethin' else…"_

"Come on Bobby, talk to me!"

"_I think Sam's been targeted by a ghost."_

"What?!" _I only leave the kid for a few hours of down time…Jesus!_

"_Yeah, a little girl. Apparently she's called Katie and…well…she wants him to stay with her. Just after he told me, he had some weird kind of seizure and stopped breathing. Dean, I'm sorry kid, but Sam's back on the vent."_

Dean pressed his foot on the throttle. "And you think this Katie ghost did this to him? Why? Why Sam? Did _you_ see her?"

"_I honestly don't know. And no, I didn't see her. In fact I thought he was delirious 'cos of the fever at first, but I just did a check of his room with your EMF meter."_

"And?"

"_Definite residuals there. __**Something **__supernatural was in Sam's room tonight."_

Dean thumped the steering wheel angrily. "Shit! I don't fucking _believe_ this."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Once Sam was settled Adrian came out and was immediately pounced on by Bobby Singer.

"Doc was there once a little girl admitted here, name of Katie?"

Dr Johnson blinked. "Well, yes a few days ago. How did you know that? And funny you should ask about her-"

"Funny how?" Bobby interrupted impatiently.

"One of my protégés performed the autopsy on her." Adrian looked a little baffled. "Why? Is something wrong?"

"She's haunting Sam." Bobby decided it was high time Sam's doctor knew what was going on. Maybe it wasn't his decision to make, but there was no time to mess about walking on egg shells and telling half truths when Sam's life was on the line. "And I'm betting he aint the first."

Adrian stared at him in amazement. "You're serious!"

"Come on Adrian, you aint stupid. Surely you had some idea of what we do? Like you said not so long ago, Harry filled you in on a few things. So about this kid: spill!"

"Spill what?" Dean appeared from nowhere.

"Damn you sure move fast boy!" Bobby countered a little startled. "Adrian was just telling me that a child called Katie was a patient here in the unit up until a few days ago. She died here."

Dean turned to Adrian. "That true?"

The doctor nodded nervously. "They said it was a head injury, caused by falling down the stairs, but James, that's the doctor who performed the autopsy, doesn't believe it and from what he described I have to agree."

"What _did_ happen?" Dean asked, voice hard with worry.

"He thinks it was the parents, that they beat the child on a regular basis, but the evidence was inconclusive."

"What?" Dean was stunned. "But there must have been bruises all over the kid…"

"Which could easily be explained away by falls and scrapes. The parents were too careful, and besides her daddy has friends in high places." The doctor raised an eyebrow in a 'know what I mean' gesture.

Yeah, they sure did. Message received loud and clear.

"Anything else you can think of Adrian would be real useful about now," Bobby frowned up at the Doc.

"You said that Sam might not be the first to be haunted by her," Adrian nodded. "Well, James did say that there had been a spate of deaths in the ICU since Katie passed away. But he noticed that they all had emotional problems, in extreme cases depression but sometimes just struggling to cope with something traumatic going on in their lives, often whatever illness put them in the ICU to start with."

Dean glanced fearfully along the hallway to his brother's room. "We need to get to Sam. Bobby, with all the shit that's been going on lately, he's a prime target right now."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean, with Bobby and Adrian right on his heels, went straight to Sam's room and sank against the doorframe in despair. His little brother was indeed back on the vent and looked worse than ever, sweat soaked hair plastered to his forehead, skin coloured by approaching death. Dean felt overwhelmed by regret and moved forward to slump into the chair beside the bed.

"Sammy…I'm sorry." Dean cupped his brother's neck tenderly, "I shouldn't have yelled at you kiddo. But it's time to come back now ok? I need you to come back so we can help you. I won't leave you on your own again, I swear."

"Dean, quit blaming yourself. You couldn't have known." Bobby growled out, trying to reassure him.

Dean snorted softly. "The kid's a walking magnet for this kinda crap, 'course I shoulda known."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

He was in some kind of white room as far as he could tell, and there was no sense of time here, just space and lots of it.

"Katie, don't do this. Please." Sam crouched down so he was at the little girl's eye level, fixing her with an imploring stare. He vaguely remembered the icy feel of strong, yet tiny hands clamped around his windpipe, and tried not to shudder. "I have to get back to my brother."

Sad blue eyes gazed back and Sam realised that this child was still an innocent. She was too young to truly understand the concept of death, and that showed plainly on her face.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" Her mouth turned down as her voice hitched with sobs. "I didn't mean to hurt you Sam; I just want us to be friends. I don't have any friends. Mommy and Daddy wouldn't let me."

And something in the way she said it made Sam pause. He almost narrowed his gaze before remembering he didn't want to scare her. He gave her a gentle smile instead.

"Katie, what happened to you?" Sam asked softly.

Katie turned away, ashamed. "I don't want to talk about it, please don't make me…"

"I can help you sweetheart. If you tell me what happened maybe we can help you move on, where there'll be lots of friends for you to play with and you won't be alone anymore…"

Katie turned back to him, tears shining on her pale face. "I don't want to talk about it," she repeated. "But I can show you." And she held out her hand.

Sam hesitated before engulfing it his much larger one. "Ok."

Katie nodded, and Sam was suddenly assaulted by the most horrifying images.

_...a baby Katie, being thrown..._

…_a slightly older Katie being held down by a woman whilst a large man in a tailored suit was beating her…_

…_Katie, now about age four, the woman yelling at her, shaking her violently, her only crime crying too loud…_

…_Katie, age six, struck across the face, hitting her head on a large pine table, leaving behind a smear of blood, the man and woman trying to wake up her…_

…_Katie, age six, lying in a hospital bed. Dying…_

"Oh God!" Sam fell to his knees and would have thrown up if he'd been able to. He glanced up at the little girl, eyes wide with shock. His voice trembled as tears of his own threatened. "Please tell me those people weren't…"

"Yes. They were my mommy and daddy." She whispered sadly. "They said I deserved it 'cos I was bad. So they hurt me over and over." Katie hung her head. "And they were right, 'cos I hurt you. And you didn't' do anything wrong. Just like all the others. They were hurting just like you and me. But they still left me."

Sam was having a bit of trouble composing himself, but eventually he caught on. "Katie, you were trying to reach out all to those other sick people, weren't you?"

She nodded slowly. "I wanted to help them, be their friend and in return I thought they'd stay. But I guess they didn't like me."

And Sam's heart made the final crack. "It wasn't that sweetie, I swear..."

Katie suddenly flung her arms round Sam's neck, burying her face in his shoulder. "Say you'll stay with me, please?" She whispered desperately.

Sam held her for a long moment, then drew back to look her squarely in the eye. "I think I can help, but you have to tell me everything. You're here because your parents did something terrible to you, something that you _didn't_ deserve, and the police need to know so you can rest in peace and move on." He watched the changing emotions on her young face. "Do you understand me kiddo? This wasn't your fault. _No one_ has the right to do that to _anyone_."

Scared blue eyes stared at him before she nodded.

"Ok, where were you when this happened?" Sam sat down cross-legged. He had no idea where he was and didn't recognise the surroundings.

Katie joined him on the floor. "We were at my daddy's hunting lodge, and they started shouting at each other. I was scared and tried to hide but mommy found me and started getting angry and Daddy shouted at me and hit me, but when I hit my head I couldn't wake up. I was looking down at myself." She frowned, clearly not sure what that meant. "Then they moved me into the car. I thought they were taking me to see a doctor to bandage my head, make me all better, but they took me home. I don't know much after that." She added in a small sad _lost _voice. "I didn't wake up."

Sam's thoughts were running at around a thousand miles an hour. Katie was smart for a six year old; she understood something had happened to her, but her thoughts and memories were jumbled. Sam didn't think she fully realised she was dead; he wasn't sure how to describe it. She knew she was _displaced_ perhaps, in a kind of limbo, and that she wasn't supposed to be here. He was more certain than ever she meant no harm, but didn't understand the consequences of her actions. She was held here by a deep ingrained sense of injustice, even if she didn't perhaps know exactly what that meant.

_Her parents drove her back home? Why not call an ambulance? The child might have survived._

Sam shook his head. The only way he could solve this for Katie was to go back. He just had to convince a scared and lonely six year old ghost that it was necessary.

"Ok sweetheart, here's the deal. You have to let me go back…"

"No! Please stay, I promise I'll be good!" She wailed, breaking Sam's heart all over again.

"Please, Katie. You have to trust me."

She gazed at him through tear-filled eyes. "Will you come back? I mean, if you can't help me, will you promise to come back?"

Sam tried not to flinch. He knew what she was asking, but he really had no choice. If he didn't agree she'd most likely keep him with her anyway.

"I promise." But he was thinking _Dean's gonna fucking kill me!_

He had just one more question. "Katie, where is your father's hunting lodge?"

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam felt a huge pressure lifted from his chest and that tight feeling in his throat was dissipating. Someone fixed the _damn_ oxygen mask over his mouth and nose _again_, and switched the _damn_ thing on. He was really starting to hate the _damn_ thing.

Shoulder stinging, Sam's muffled moan bounced off the plastic and came right back at him, sounding hollow. He finally found the strength to open his eyes, to be confronted with his very anxious looking big brother. Sam opened his mouth to speak, but Dean beat him to it.

"Ok Sam, let's hear it. What did the little shit have to say to you?"

"Huh?" Again with that hollow noise and Sam wrenched off the mask.

It appeared that Dean was trying to control his impatience and only barely succeeding.

"Katie. She's been going around the ICU since she died, murdering people, and now she's latched onto you and I get the feeling you're runnin' outta time. So, what gives?"

Sam stared at him, more than a little dazed. He shook his head slowly, still feeling greatly unwell. "No, she's not like that Dean. She's just a kid. Katie showed me. Her parents killed her by accident, but they covered it up," Sam became breathless again and knew he didn't have much time. "They beat the crap outta her since she was born... but this time they went too far... she's lonely and scared, and she doesn't know where she is. _She doesn't understand._"

Dean made up his mind. "Right that's it..."

"No!" Sam wheezed out, knowing what his brother was like. "Give me...pen and paper...she...I made a promise to her..."

Dean finally pieced it together and stared at him angrily. "You didn't!"

Sam watched him sadly, _desperately. _"She gave me no choice..."

After a pause for it to sink in, Dean bowed his head and nodded. Having raised his little brother he knew all too well how stubborn and steadfast kids could be. "We have to help her, or you die anyway right? So what now?"

Sam offered up a small tired smile, managing to draw a long enough breath. "She told me they moved her, so I'm guessing they covered up where it really took place...they had a hunting lodge... _that's _where the accident happened. You'll find a sample of her blood...on the pine table in the drawing room...that should be enough. Please hurry Dean...don't wanna leave you..."

Within a second Sam's vitals dipped and he lost consciousness again. But Dean didn't think he'd ever forget the last, small smile on his brother's face. A heartbreaking mix of shame, sorrow, pain, and the last was a plea for forgiveness.

_Why the hell would you need to ask that of me little bro?_

Bobby had already left for the cabin, Dr Johnson in tow.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Authors notes:**_

Don't you just love the power of fiction? You can do anything you want.

And that's certainly true in this fic. Yet another on call offering folks!

Love ya all.

Kind regards,

ST.xxx.


	15. Chapter 15

**Sugar Me Sweet Chapter 15**

**Semi-epilogue (of a sort)**

_**Author's notes:**_** Not a lot of action in this one. It goes a bit fast in some places and I'm not totally happy with this update, but I felt it was time we wrapped it up. The main purpose of this chapter is to really get stuck into the discussion of the brother's thoughts on Sam's so called destiny so please bear with me.**

_Warning: Severe sappy, brotherly love and angst all the way through, with the investigation in between, and hugs at the end._

_Don't like? Can't take the sheer emo factor? Don't read!_

_YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"So what happens now…?" Adrian began as he and Bobby headed down the hallway away from Sam's room, but Dr Taylor approached him from the nurse's station, frowning anxiously.

"Adrian, I heard about Sam. He's really taken a turn for the worst?"

Dr Johnson shot Bobby a worried look before answering. "Yeah, he suffered respiratory arrest a while ago, but though he's breathing on his own now Sam's still not out of the woods yet." He stared closely at the young doctor's face. "You ok James? Ya look a little pale."

James shrugged, appearing embarrassed and Bobby shifted from foot to foot impatiently and made a silent gesture to Adrian that it was time to wrap it up.

"Well, you wanna talk you have my number, right?" Adrian made a move to leave but Dr Taylor grabbed his arm gently.

"I'm sorry. I don't often talk to people about this, but…uh…" he took a deep fortifying breath and blurted it out. "I know your son's psychic."

Two pairs of eyes locked fiercely on his face, and it was all James could do not to shrink back. As with most people in the presence of a stunned and worried Bobby Singer, he found the silence uncomfortable and suffocating, so he filled in the gap.

"And the reason I know is that…uh…I'm psychic too."

No one moved, just carried on staring at him, only there was no scepticism or mockery. Just wariness and more than a little shock.

"She made contact with him, didn't she? I mean, I'm pretty certain she tried to talk to me but it didn't work 'cos I wasn't sick." James glanced from Bobby to Adrian, then back again. "That's why he's fallen ill again right? He's her next victim. Has he said anything?"

Bobby narrowed his eyes and nodded slowly. "I think you'd better come with us. We'll explain on the way."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean watched his brother anxiously. Sam's face was once again flushed with fever, his head rolling from side to side as he fought against the pull of death. He alternated between bouts of clear eyed coherency and mumbled nonsense, the whimpered pleas cutting Dean to the bone. Sam's body was still struggling to control his blood sugar levels because of the fever, and Dean felt as though he were on a constant knife edge, waiting for Sam to slip.

Clearly, in spite of Sam's promise to help Katie, the little girl's spirit still had a negative influence on his health. Dean had a hard time trying not to hate her for it; none of this was her fault, he knew that. It was just something she'd evolved into. Once Katie had latched onto Sam the link was irreversible until either her parents were brought to justice or Sam…_no_. Dean wasn't going to think about that.

But Sam had been right. Though Katie was too young to understand the concept of justice, it was inbuilt, was still her driving force. He hadn't really thought about it before, but most of the spirits he and his brother had dispatched over the years had stuck around waiting for the scales of justice to balance out. More often than not it wasn't possible, and Sam and Dean had to resort to a salt and burn. But that wasn't an option this time, because if Dean went anywhere near Katie's body with an accelerant and a box of matches, she'd take his little brother with her.

"_Deeeaannn…"_

The low, frantic whisper had Dean scooting forward to the edge of his seat, grasping his brother's hand.

"I'm here Sammy, just hold on. Don't let her take you."

Tired eyes blinked open to stare at Dean, and Sam gave his hand a weak squeeze. "Tr…trying." He answered breathlessly.

"Yeah, you're _very_ trying little bro." Dean smiled softly when Sam managed a small chuckle.

The brother's stayed silent, the only sound the beeping of the monitors and Sam's laboured breathing. Sam shifted his injured shoulder a little then cleared his throat.

"C…could I have…some w…water…?"

"'Fraid not kiddo. Just ice chips for now." Dean reached out to the night stand where he'd place a small tub of ice not five minutes before. He placed one hand under Sam's neck, gently supporting his head then used his other hand to dig out a small spoonful of chips and fed them to his sick brother.

Sam sighed in relief at the refreshing chill on his tongue. In many ways the ice was better than water, and at least he was less likely to throw up. He let the ice melt and slide down his throat, a small smile forming on his lips. Sinking back into the pillow he noted Dean blinking rapidly, fighting to stay awake.

"G…get some sl…sleep."

Dean turned to glare at him. "I can sleep later Sam. Ok? I can breathe properly, I don't have a fever, and I don't have a ghost threatening…"

"Dean." Sam interrupted his rant, and the glare deepened. "I'm n…not gonna l…let go. I promised her, yeah, but sh…she only gets m…me if I g…give up."

Dean sighed heavily. "Yeah, but if she chose to she _could_ take you by force. Promises don't carry much weight with the dead, Sammy." He raised an eyebrow as he considered that statement. "Hell, for most people they don't count for much in _life_."

"If I d…don't make it, she could l…latch onto you too." Sam gazed at his big brother worriedly. "So you n…need to get some r…rest."

"Screw that Sam. You're gonna make it and don't you _dare_ think otherwise." Dean was suddenly on his feet and leaning over his startled brother. "And if I have to follow you to this _white room _or whatever the hell it is to get you back, then I will!"

A shaky hand rose up to grasp one of Dean's.

"I kn…know you will." Sam whispered back.

Dean's stare softened at the pain in his brother's eyes, and perched on the edge of the bed, gently stroking Sam's fringe aside. "Go to sleep Sammy. I'll be right here."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"So it _was_ Katie's parents huh?" James shook his head. He was seated between Bobby and Adrian, trying to hold onto the dashboard in order to keep from bouncing off the seat. Adrian kept one hand gripped tightly to passenger door for the same reason.

The suspension on Bobby's truck had seen better days but the grizzled hunter hardly noticed the rough ride; he was used to it and wouldn't have it any other way.

"I _knew_ her body had been moved, all the evidence was there but the boss just wouldn't listen to me. He even confiscated my report." James thumped the dashboard lightly.

"Yeah, and for Sam's sake we gotta make sure they don't get away with it." Bobby replied, keeping an eye on the review mirror. No stranger to exceeding the speed limit, he was particularly anxious not to get caught or sidetracked by the law. But with what James said next, it was inevitable.

"You realise we can't just go in there, scrape up a sample of dried blood and expect the police to accept it as evidence, right?" James squirmed a little under Bobby's sudden direct gaze, but bravely continued. "I mean, there are procedures that need to be followed, and if there's _any_ suspicion the sample may have been tampered with, they'll laugh the case out of court. Not to mention Katie's parents will likely sue us."

The strained silence that followed had Bobby mentally kicking himself for not thinking it sooner, and Adrian was deep in thought.

The older doctor tapped a finger against his lips. "I know someone that could help."

And pulled out his cell phone.

"Yeah hi, can you put me through to the on call Biochemist please? Thanks."

Bobby frowned at him in between watching the road.

"Hey Annette it's Adrian again. Sorry to disturb you, I know you must be busy."

He could feel her cheery grin down the line_. "Not at all, AJ. Always a pleasure to hear from you. Ya know we should really get together for dinner one evening whilst you're still around…"_

Adrian smiled affectionately. "Sounds like a date. Listen, does your brother still work in forensics? Only we might need some advice."

To his utter surprise, she was able to go one better.

"_Actually, he transferred to the police department a few years back. You want his number? He'd love to help. Peter always had a soft spot for ya."_ This last bit was said suggestively, and Adrian rolled his eyes in amusement.

"Yeah, and he knows I don't swing that way."

A soft, sexy chuckle reached his ear and he blushed when she announced in a deep sultry voice _"Glad to hear it."_

As it turned out Annette's brother was the consummate professional, and when Adrian called him, he was _very_ interested to hear that new evidence had come to light. After a brief discussion, Peter agreed to meet up at the cabin.

"They're gonna ask us how we know all this." James said softly and bit his lip. "The police work with psychic detectives sometimes right?" He shifted in his seat to look at Adrian.

"Yeah, it's been known. Why? You volunteering to take the heat for this?" At the younger man's determined nod Adrian felt a surge of pride. The kid had taken this case personally. Though he felt it right to caution him. "You realise you could be discredited and your name dragged through the mud? Any chance you had at that fellowship would be destroyed. It's a hell of a risk."

James set his jaw stubbornly. "If it means Katie's parents go down for what they did to her, then I don't care."

Adrian decided right there and then that should the crap hit the windmill then James _would _have a job to go to one way or another. There was no way Sam would be fit enough to deal with the media circus that would surround this case once it came out, and he was pretty sure that the brothers would be hitting the road first chance they got anyhow. At least this way, Sam and Dean could be kept out of the press. Somehow he knew that was important, but he was impressed that James, who hadn't even _met_ the Winchester brothers yet, had also picked up on that.

_I guess that means he really __**is**__ a psychic then._

Bobby, who had been somewhat reserved and untrusting of the younger doctor, now looked at him with a good deal of respect.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Katie?" Sam turned around again, eyes scanning the white room. "You here kiddo?" But it felt vast and empty, like a theatre after the last person had left.

"Katie?" He called again and started moving forward.

Sam realised that he was hearing music. Faint at first but gradually building in volume, then out of the white Katie appeared, dancing to the tune, twirling round, pigtails flying. She stopped when she saw Sam and smiled sadly.

"My nanny use to play this for me when I was feeling sad."

"It's a pretty tune." Sam replied, not sure what else to say. He didn't recognise the music at all so he just went along with it. "What's it called?"

Katie frowned as she thought about that. "I don't know. She never told me." She peered up at Sam again. "I miss her. She went away after she saw mommy and daddy punishing me, and I never saw her again."

Sam felt his heart shatter once again on hearing that. It seemed that Katie's own parents never loved her and drove away anyone that did. He really didn't understand why some people bothered to have children, or more to the point why they were allowed to in the first place. Then something occurred to him.

"Sweetheart, what was the name of your nanny?"

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean put down his magazine and went in search of some caffeine. Staying awake was proving to be a bitch and he needed something extreme. So coffee and a stretch of the legs seemed the only option. He reached out and gave Sam's shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"I'll be right back kiddo. Don't go anywhere." Sam's only answer was to mutter softly before settling down again. His fever was still raging but Dean noticed that Sam seemed more comfortable and wondered if he was back in the 'white room' his brother had told him about. Sam's theory about it was more than a little disturbing. His little brother was convinced that Katie had created it as a place of her own, a kind of cocoon of safety for the girl whenever she grew frightened. Dean had never heard of that before and he was pretty certain his father had never mentioned it. Still, the Winchesters were used to dealing with the strange and unknown, and when Sam assured him there was nothing threatening him in Katie's place of safety Dean relaxed a little.

After a couple of lengths of the ward, peeking in at Sam on each pass, Dean felt awake again and headed back to his brother.

"Hey." Sam was awake again, though groggy and tired. "C…can ya do s…somethin' for me?"

"Course I can." Dean placed a palm against Sam's forehead and noted a little anxiously that he felt even hotter to the touch. He tilted his head slightly and studied the sheer exhaustion on Sam's face. "You went back there again, huh?"

Sam blinked at him with a small smile. "D…don't get much ch…choice 'bout it." Closing his eyes for a second and wincing as his shoulder throbbed painfully, Sam let out a weary sigh. "I n…need you to tr…" he struggled to finish the sentence as he glucose levels started to fluctuate again.

Dean glanced across at the IV port, waiting for the whir of the motor that indicated the peristaltic pump had kicked in, delivering insulin into Sam's blood stream. His brother gasped for air and Dean immediately re-fastened the ever-present oxygen mask over Sam's face.

"Take it easy kid, just relax." _Finally _the damn pump started up, and within seconds Sam was breathing a little easier. "what dya need me to do Sammy?"

"C…can you track s…someone down for me?"

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Peter was waiting for them outside the driveway, which was little more than over-grown track. Adrian jumped down from Bobby's truck and shook hands with the detective, a huge smile on his face.

"Well, well, well. _Detective _Peter Rankin. Congratulations on the transfer. Long time no see."

Peter chuckled, returning the smile. "Thanks, and you're right. It has been a long time. _Too_ long."

Adrian hosted the introductions and moved onto the pressing matter of Katie's parents.

Peter turned to the young doctor, eyeing him appreciatively. "So a psychic doctor huh? Don't run into too many of those."

James noted to his relief that his tone contained curiosity rather than distain, and nodded. "It comes in handy from time to time." He grinned. "Especially with the more _stubborn_ patients."

Peter laughed "I'll bet."

James couldn't help but feel a tingle of excitement at that deep throaty chuckle.

"So what you got planned to get into the house?" Bobby folded his arms. "If this is an official investigation, don't you need a search warrant?"

An _official_ looking piece of paper was held out with a flourish. "Turns out that not everyone believed the kid's parents. One Judge Jenkins agreed to help with very little persuading." Peter grinned again. "It helped that I'm a qualified Forensic Scientist and that I had two doctors on side willing to back me up."

And the beauty of it all was, Adrian reflected, if the parents weren't there then Peter was quite within his rights to gain entry by any means.

Which was what he did with an indecent amount of pleasure, picking the lock with ease and flinging open the door with a loud "Hi honey I'm home!" Reminding Adrian and Bobby of Dean Winchester for some reason.

Bobby waited outside the cabin whilst the detective and the two doctors went inside. For once in a way, Bobby was the 'civilian' here and felt quite content to take a backseat and let the officials handle this.

The trio headed for the drawing room as Sam had instructed, but although there _was_ a large pine table there was no sign of any blood.

"Not surprising. They probably came straight here after the kid died and cleaned the place up" Peter glanced around, taking in all the grisly hunting trophies; animal heads lined the walls in a variety of species, and he wondered why anyone would bring a child here. Surely it would've caused nightmares? It certainly made Peter shudder.

He crouched down and examined the surface of the wood before continuing, spending several minutes checking over each inch of the circumference. "But! No matter how good they think they are, _something_ always gets left behind."

He pulled out a pair of surgical gloves, forceps and a sterile plastic container, closely followed by a small magnifying instrument with a light attachment. The two doctors stood by anxiously, watching the detective scrape away gently at the fine grain.

"Bingo." Peter stood with a small satisfied grin and held out the container. At the bottom, only _just_ visible to the naked eye, resided several tiny splinters of wood covered in a rust coloured substance. There was little doubt in anyone's mind that substance was dried blood.

"I can organise some DNA tests," Peter took off the gloves. "But this might be enough to force a confession. Their lawyer may well suggest a plea bargain of man slaughter. It aint much, but it's something."

"And you think we can keep James's psychic abilities out of the public arena?" Adrian asked anxiously.

"Don't see why not. A young doctor expressing some concerns over the death of one of his patients comes to me for advice, and I'm convinced enough to start an investigation and obtain a search warrant…" Peter waved a hand casually then winked at James, earning himself a becoming blush. "I'll iron out the rest of the wrinkles as I go. Now if you'll excuse me, I gotta go call it in."

Adrian and James just stared at each other.

"So that's it? It's really that simple?" James asked, worried that things had perhaps been a little _too_ easy.

"Well, for us certainly." Adrian smiled reassuringly. "The rest is up to the police department now." The two of them wandered outside to inform Bobby the evidence was now in hand.

The hunter scratched his head for a long moment. "I guess we'd better head on back. I just hope we set things in motion fast enough for Sam, 'cos if we're too late…"

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Sam? Sammy, wake up dude." Dean gently patted his brother's cheek, eliciting a small muffled groan. "Come on, talk to me. I'm getting bored here."

But Sam just rolled his head weakly to the side, his breathing noticeably more troubled even though the insulin pump was now whirring into action every time his glucose levels started to rise.

Dean held a damp washcloth to Sam's forehead, whilst his other hand carded through his brother's hair. From what he'd been told, this was almost exactly how the others had died. Sam was growing weaker and Dean suddenly gave into the urge to beg.

"Please Sam. Keep fighting this, don't give up." He whispered in despair. "You promised me, remember?"

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam was back in the white room. In fact, he seemed to be here on a permanent basis now and that wasn't a good sign. It meant that his body was getting weaker, giving up, and effectively signing him over to Katie.

"You're running out of time aren't you?" A soft sad voice reached his ears and Sam turned to find Katie waiting silently behind him. "I can feel it."

Sam nodded resignedly. He'd long since realised there was nothing further he could do, and that Katie was going to take him from his brother.

Sam crouched down to look into her eyes. "Just give us more time, please Katie. We're so close to setting you free."

She stared back at him for a moment, her six year old mind weighing out the pros and cons of Sam staying here or of moving on.

"Ok." She nodded and dropped her gaze to the floor. "I don't think I belong here anyway." Katie raised her chin again, blue eyes searching his. "And neither do you. I'm so sorry."

"What for?" Sam asked more than a little confused. The little girl suddenly seemed much older than her years.

"I can give you more time, but your promise must still stand. I can't reverse it."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Fortunately for Sam the case against Katie's parents was progressing fast, and the couple, Jeremy and Margot Leighton, were arrested within an hour of Peter's phone call to the department.

However, Katie's father, being the hardnosed businessman, wasn't making things easy. He denied everything and stuck to the original story of Katie's fall down the stairs. It might have worked except for several reasons.

For a start the police department were now fully involved in a serious murder investigation and now it had leaked to the press. They couldn't afford to lose face.

James Taylor was officially interviewed with regard to the autopsy, and with Peter's help the Captain of the department could no longer deny it. On top of this, the mother was on the verge of a break down and refused to say anything. No one had any sympathy for the woman, though it didn't stop her trying on the water works.

The whole case had reached some quite high echelons and various expensive lawyers and politicians had become rather upset, rushing to the aid of their friend.

That was until a certain person appeared out of the woodwork. And that really _clinched_ it.

Whilst Sam's condition had been deteriorating, and Bobby and Co were off playing Quincy, Dean had managed to track down a woman by the name of Hannah Daily. Sam had been adamant about it, was sure this would succeed where a smear of blood might fail.

Miss Daily had been horrified by Katie's bruises when she first took the job as her nanny, but had been quickly reassured that the child was clumsy and just bruised easily. But on her night off the eighteen year old had been half way to the movie theatre when she realised she'd forgotten her purse. When she returned to the house Hannah could hear the screams coming from the kitchen. Dreading what she'd find, she made the decision to peak round the door, only to witness Katie being brutally beaten by her father, with her mother just standing by and enjoying the show. Hannah had stormed in and tried to grab his arm, but Jeremy turned and laid into the young nanny, leaving her with a broken nose, two broken teeth, and a black eye.

She'd moved away shortly after being fired by Katie's parents and only being in the US on a green card meant that she was easy to intimidate.

When Dean finally got in contact with Hannah via a childcare agency, she'd been horrified to learn of Katie's death, mortified with grief and guilt for not having spoken up sooner, and agreed to return straight away to make a statement.

Everything in Hannah's statement matched up to James Taylor's medical report, which highlighted some of the major inconsistencies in the previous 'investigation'.

As soon as her statement landed on the Captain's desk, the news delivered directly by an extremely smug Peter Rankin, Katie's father suddenly felt very lonely. All those phone calls and promises of aid and sanctity from so-called friends and colleagues had disappeared, and it was this that finally sent his wife over the edge.

A full confession from Margot had them both charged with child abuse and murder.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

James's boss was severely reprimanded in his part in covering up the true circumstances regarding Katie's death. He admitted that in having James run the autopsy he could easily discredit the young doctor's claims, blatantly using his lack of experience. It hadn't been the smartest move and it clearly back fired.

James handed in his notice at the hospital shortly before it went to trial and accepted the post at Adrian's clinic.

The captain of the police department received a hefty slap on the wrist for not taking the case seriously, and public demand eventually led to his resignation.

Peter, after publicly thanking James and Adrian for their help, faded into the background, refusing recognition for his efforts. Though he _did_ ask the young Dr Taylor out on a date, and was more than pleasantly surprised when he accepted.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam didn't show any improvement and Dean wondered if it had gone too far, taken too long. But on the day Margot and Jeremy were finally convicted and sentenced to life imprisonment, he woke up.

Katie had remained true to the deal and let Sam go. The goodbye had been sudden, with Katie just tilting her head to the side and staring at Sam. She nodded her thanks, one brief final hug, and the next moment Sam was awake.

Not only that, but his shoulder was completely healed, glucose levels fully stabilised, and there was no sign of fever. Though Adrian insisted he stay on a few more days for observation. It was even hinted at by James that Katie may have assisted in the healing process, as an apology to Sam and for all the lives she'd taken.

It didn't stop Dean from hovering, however.

"Sam, you sure you're feelin' ok?"

Sam was surprisingly patient given it was at least the twentieth time of being asked. "Yeah. Better than I've felt in a long time."

Dean leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and Sam knew that they were in for a longtalk. Something had been bugging his older brother and Sam was kind of relieved he was about to get it off his chest.

"I'm sorry I walked out on you."

Sam stared at him in shock. That wasn't quite what he was expecting. "Huh?" _Wasn't it the other way round?_

"You know…before this stuff with Katie started. I gave you a hard time when you were still real sick. Shouldn't have done that." Dean looked genuinely ashamed. "I should've been there for you."

"Dean, it's ok. I would've done the same in your shoes." Sam sat up a little straighter. "You were worried and I'd acted like a real dumbass….I can't blame you for being angry. I freaked out and put you through the ringer."

Dean ran a hand through his spiky hair and huffed. "Yeah, but I'd pretty much knocked you on ya ass with that whole 'Dad's last words' thing." He looked up at Sam, green eyes suspiciously moist, his voice quiet. "I'm sorry 'bout that too. You asked me straight if he'd said anything before he died and I lied right to your face. You've always trusted me to watch your back and tell you the truth, and I let you down."

"Dean…" But Sam shut up at Dean's glare.

"You tell me its ok one more time and I'll put salt in your damn coffee!" In spite of how heavy the conversation was, or was about to become, both brothers smiled lightly. "The fact is, yeah this whole thing's screwed me up, and at first I wished Dad hadn't told me."

Sam looked down at his hands, picking nervously at the nails. "Because you thought he was right? That I might go darkside?" he asked, voice just as nervous as his hands.

"No." Dean replied softly. "I never really believed that, not deep down anyway. But Dad…he scared me dude, with what he said. Came as a shock."

Dean was being absolutely honest, and though Sam appreciated it he still felt the sadness deep inside at his own father's lack of faith in him. But it did make him ever more grateful for Dean's support.

"Do…" Sam swallowed passed the lump that had taken up residence in his throat, and tried again. "Do you think he really believed it? I mean, he said 'if' you couldn't save me, right?"

That was a question Dean really didn't want to answer, but he owed Sam the truth. "Yeah Sam. I think he believed there was a possibility. He wasn't talking about a 'just in case' scenario." Dean's stomach clench painfully when Sam turned his head away. "But this whole damn thing reeks of bullshit Sam."

Sam turned back, surprised at the change in tone. Dean sounded angry though by the look on his face it wasn't aimed at him.

"Huh?" Sam answered intelligently for the second time during the discussion.

"Think about it." Dean raised his eyebrows. "Dad never said how he came by this information. Or who, if anyone, told him, right? What if he got hold of the wrong end of the stick? Or maybe someone lied to him." He shrugged. "Wouldn't be the first time. Dad's misinterpreted information in the past, or been _fed_ misinformation. And that's how demons get their kicks. Happens to the best of us."

"Demon's lie." Sam said softly.

"Yup." Dean nodded, knowing that it wouldn't make it any easier for Sam from a family perspective. After all, it still smacked of a lack of faith on their father's part, that he would believe a demon's word over his own son. But maybe his theory would help install in Sam a sense of faith _in_ _himself._

"What happened that night?" Sam startled Dean from his thoughts.

"What?"

Sam sighed a little. "I know something else happened the night I was stabbed. I can feel it."

Dean took in the anxious look on his brother's face and made a decision. Yes, Sam would feel guilty but on the other hand he was an adult and _still _deserved the truth.

"I went looking for you at the bar but you'd already left. Someone helped me find you, or at least pointed me in the right direction, which was how I got to you before it was too late." He paused to let that sink in. "Sammy, that person was the barmaid. She was spotted talking to me about you and they…" This was harder than he thought.

"They what?" Sam turned tear-filled eyes on his brother, already guessing but dreading the answer. "Dean?"

"They killed her, Sammy." Dean watched his little brother from the corner of his eye. "She helped me save your life and her boss had her brutally beaten to death."

There was a stunned silence as Sam stared at him in shock.

"Ah...god…" Sam bit his lip, drawing blood as he tried to control his breathing. "What have I done?"

"Sammy…"

"It's just like Harry, she died protecting me." Dean squeezed his eyes shut on hearing the pain in Sam's voice. "It's my fault. Maybe Dad was right about me, Dean. Everyone I come into contact with dies, Mom, Jess, Dad, Harry…"

"Sam stop it!" Dean's sharp tone cut into Sam's self-recriminations. "That's just a little more bullshit than I can cope with right now."

"And how dya think I feel huh?" Sam shouted furiously, and Dean would have yelled right back at him if it weren't for the tears that finally rolled down his little brother's face. "If I hadn't been born then none of this would've happened. Mom and Dad would still be alive, you'd have a normal life, maybe a family of your own with Cassie, Jess would be happy, _living_…"

The look on Sam's face was frightening in its despair and Dean couldn't take it anymore, but instead of walking out this time he got up, perched on the bed and grabbed Sam's upper arms, giving him a hard shake.

"I said _stop_ _it!"_ Then he got right in Sam's face and growled angrily. "Yeah, sure I wish mom and dad were alive, that we had the white picket fence and all that crap. But I'll _never_ regret my little brother. If I was offered a trade tomorrow I would _always_ choose your life over and above everything else. So don't you _ever _say that again, ya hear me Sam? _EVER!"_

"Dean…"

"I _mean _it Sam. I don't _need_ Cassie or anyone else." Dean gave him a slight smirk and softened his voice. "Why would I want children or a large family when I have you? You're my brother _but you're also_ _all the son I need_, and when you went off to Stanford, yeah it broke my heart but I was so damn proud of you kiddo. More than you'll ever know."

Now that Sam was suitably stunned into silence by his little speech, Dean stared into his brother's tear-stained face, before pulling him into his arms and holding him tightly as though afraid Sam would disappear again.

"Just trust me Sam." He let out a sigh of relief when Sam finally recovered enough to reciprocate the hug, rested his chin on Sam's head and lowered his voice further. "I swear, nothing bad's gonna happen to you whilst I'm around. Just promise you won't run out on me again, ok? I can't lose you little bro. I _won't_ lose you."

Sam might have lost any understanding he had for his father, but _finally_ he understood his brother, his motives, he reasoning..._his love. _And though he'd waited all his life just for his family to tell him they loved him, without the actual words he realised he got what he wanted. Dean had just said it all in his own special way, and that was more than enough.

"I promise." Sam buried his face in Dean's neck. Usually Sam felt acutely embarrassed, even angry when his brother reduced him to feeling like a four year old.

But this time Sam didn't mind, because _this time_ he felt safe, as though he'd truly returned home.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**So there you have it. I hope the brotherly 'talk' lived up to most people's expectations, though it was shorter than I'd hoped. It was surprisingly hard for me to write I must admit.**_

_**I should also point out that although Katie's death was an 'accident' given that it's my story I'm sure you can forgive me for the harsh sentence her parent's received. Though a public flogging wouldn't be justice enough in my mind!**_

_**This particular plot is over, but I hope to carry on with other story lines in the future. And for ease of reference, I will continue to post under this title. So in fact it's more like a 'diabetic Sam' 'verse really. Just keep your eyes peeled.**_

_**Many thanks for all your kind reviews and for staying with this.**_

_**Kind regards,**_

__

_**ST.xxx.**_


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